The Little Known Account of Emilyn of Rohan
by mducquette
Summary: As a young child, Emilyn is betrothed to Boromir of Gondor, but as her life unfolds in Gondor, she finds herself drawn to his brother, Faramir. Who will she choose, when her heart betrays her?
1. Introductions

Hello again everyone! So here's the deal. After a LOTR marathon the other weekend, I started thinking about this story again. I reread it and found that there were a LOT of great things. On the other hand…there was a LOT that needed to be fixed. I was too hurried when I first wrote it, and it's time that the characters get more time, and get fleshed out a bit more. Besides, it can only get better…right?

So, sit back, relax, and get ready for a super sappy, angst ridden romance. (Something a dear friend of mine has dubbed my "Tolkein Trash".

Shout out as well to my original Beta, Mercury Gray.

**Chapter One: Introductions**

Edoras 3012

Emilyn sat in front of the stables restlessly playing with a piece of straw and watching as the stablemen went about their afternoon chores. Occasionally one would smile down at her causing her heart to sink just that much lower seeing the sympathy and pity in their eyes.

Halda, a middle-aged gentleman who had ridden to war with her father, finally took a seat next to her, grunting as he eased his body onto the hard ground. Years of riding with the Rohirrim had taken its toll on him, but now, as head farrier, he was in his element tending to the horses of Rohan.

"How is she?" Emilyn asked, not wanting to look at the man afraid of what words he would speak.

Smiling kindly, Halda picked up one of the pieces of straw she had been playing with, throwing it out into the wind that always blew around Edoras, making the place feel as if it were constanty in motion. "Lindel is going to be fine. She sprained her right foreleg, but that should heal in a matter of weeks."

A relieved sigh escaped her lips and Emilyn looked up at him, smiling through tearful eyes. "Can I see her?"

"In a moment," he answered, his voice turning stern. "We have to discuss a few things first." Leaning back against the hard wood of the stables Emilyn waited for the inevitable to come. Closing her eyes, she listened to her consequences. It was always this way she had learned. You do something that others see as foolish, and you have to pay the price. Being raised as neice to the King, she often wondered if children of the Westfold had to deal with the same things, or were they aloud to run about doing whatever their heart desired. For Emilyn, and her family, it was always the same: "What were you thinking?"; "What will our people think?"; "You must lead by example!" But Emilyn never thought that was fair. All she wanted was to take care of her brother and sister. So what if she was youngest! That didn't mean she couldn't watch after them just the same. That's all she was doing when this entire mess started, and now she would have to accept whatever punishment her Uncle dealt out without complaint.

It had been shortly after Emilyn's third year that the children of Théodwyn and Éomund of the Eastfold were brought to Edoras. Their father had been killed by orcs during a raid and their mother, unable to find peace after her husband's death, forsook her children and died shortly after of grief and pain. Only twelve, Éomer took charge of his younger sisters and rode straight for Edoras, knowing he would find help there. Being the youngest, Emilyn barely remembered her parents, just images if anything, and her uncle, Theoden King, was the only father she knew. Her cousin, Theodred, another brother.

For the past ten years, the seat of Rohan had been their home. And a better place for a child to grow couldn't be imagine. In Edoras, Emilyn and Éowyn had learned to ride, to wield a sword, and had lived a life like no other. It was only when Emilyn found herself in trouble, which happened more often then she cared to admit, that she pouted about the life she had been blessed with. Now, she waited for Halda's sentence as one who was to be sentenced to death.

"You're uncle told me that I was to punish you as I saw fit, and since I answer to King Theoden, and him alone, that's what I plan to do." Halda paused a moment before continuing, not wanting to be too hard on the child, but thoroughly enjoying torturing the spoiled niece of his King. "You will not be allowed to ride Lindel, or any other horse for three weeks." Emilyn began to protest, but Halda raised a hand. "I also expect you here every morning to help clean the stalls."

"But, Halda," Emilyn tried to speak again, but stopped when the farrier continued.

"My Lady, you have to learn that you are only thirteen. You are not a member of the Rohirrim, nor are you a grown woman," he raised his hand again to prevent her from speaking. "I realize that you are a good rider, but Emilyn, trying to follow after your brother? Do you realize how dangerous that was? You are lucky Lindel was spooked and sprained her leg. What if you had come across a band of orcs? Or worse, what if you actually had found your brother?" Halda's voice was raised, fear of what could have happened to the child frightening him. Visions of her lifeless body being carried into the city were not something he wanted to imagine. "He is the Chief Marshall of the Mark. Do you really think he has time to look after his sister while in the field protecting our borders? Not only could it be disastrous for him and his men, but for our kingdom as well."

Emilyn nodded, knowing he was right. She had been foolish thinking she alone could ride out and find the Rohirrim.

"Now," Halda said, standing with a groan. "Go and see Lindel." Nodding soberly, Emilyn stood, brushing the pieces of straw from her skirt. "And milady," Halda added. "The riders will be back soon. I can promise you that." Emilyn gave the old man a smile and hurried inside the cool stable.

The next week dragged by while Emilyn trudged through her punishment. The only good thing about it being that she was still able to see the horses. But, when Éowyn rode out on her own horse, Emilyn knew that it was simply to taunt her. Pushing an auburn curl from her face as she shoveled another bit of hay into Lindel's stable, she muttered something about how rude and arrogant her sister was. With a loud snort, the horse nudged her mistress, nearly knocking Emilyn off balance.

"I'm sorry, Lindel, but it will be another week before I can ride you again. Besides, you need to let your leg heel." Emilyn straightened herself up and pushed another piece of hair from her face. She was hot, sweaty, and knew she smelt horribly. It wasn't just sweat and horse like the normal aroma after riding, but everything else that went along with cleaning a stable. Pausing, she wondered how many other noble daughters would be caught cleaning a stable. She doubted the women of Gondor would do such a thing. Pushing back her sleeves she started back in on her work, laughing when Lindel nudged her again.

"Lindel, I have to hurry. Uncle said he needed to speak to me today, and I don't think it would be very courteous of me to see him like this." She imagined walking into the hall of the King smelling of manure. That would certainly earn her another lecture of some sort which made her laugh to think of the upset it would cause. The look on her uncle's face alone would almost be worth the consequences...almost.

As she was leading one of the ponies back to its stall she heard a commotion outside.

"The riders are back!" a male voice called out excitedly. "The Rohirrim have returned!"

Without a second thought, Emilyn shut the pony in its stall and rushed outside running as fast as her legs would carry her. The steep dirt roads that led down to the gates of the city almost tripped her in her haste. By the time she got there, a large number of villagers had already surrounding the Rohirrim and their horses.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Emilyn spotted her brother. One couldn't miss him even without his crested helmet, Éomer, Chief Marshall of the Mark, tended to stand out in a crowd.

Handing the reigns of his mount to a stableboy, Éomer noticed his sister pushing her way towards him. He handed his helmet to a friend and picked her up in a great, strong hug swinging her off her feet and nearly taking her breath away.

"Emilyn," he laughed, setting her down and getting a good look at her. "I've missed you. Three months is far too long to be away." Brushing the ever unwieldy curl from her face, he looked her over. "I think you get more and more beautiful every time I see you." Smiling, Emilyn threw her arms around him again. "But," Éomer began, stopping her. "You smell horrible. What have you been doing?" he asked, pushing her back a foot or two and holding her at arms length.

Frowning, Emilyn looked into her brother's stern face. "I'm sure you'll hear all about it. Eowyn's probably just dying to tell you."

"Then I'm sure it will be a very interesting stoy indeed," Éomer chuckled, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder with a grunt. "First things first. Let's get you cleaned up. And while you return to your normally dignified self, I will speak with the King."

After leaving his sister in the care of her serving women, Éomer marched towards the Golden Hall. Without acknowledging the Royal Guard, he stormed through the doors and found King Theoden deep in conversation with two of his advisors.

"Éomer," the King greeted him with a warm smile and hug. "I heard you had returned. I trust you have news for me."

Éomer stood in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the greeing. "How could you," he spat angrily.

Meeting the young marshall's eyes, Theoden nodded. "Leave us," he ordered the advisors, this was no conversation to have in the presence of others. Waiting for the hall to empty, Theoden focused on the angry warrior in front of him. "Do you have something to say to me?" the King asked, the smallest of threats in his voice, but knowing not to push the issue.

"Gondor?" Éomer spat, his face livid. "You would send my sister to Gondor without even consulting me? I had to find out from a ranger who had been traveling with their party." Éomer was raging with anger. "They are on their way here now!" he shouted. "Were you merely hoping that I would return before she left?"

Theoden motioned to a bench. "Why don't we have a seat," he said, laying a hand on Eomer's arm.

Jerking his arm away, Éomer glared at his uncle King. "I will not sit down. I demand an explanation."

The King nodded and sat back against the wooden table. With a heavy sigh he rubbed a hand over his worn face. "I am not happy about the situation either, but it has to be done. An alliance with Gondor is what this country has needed for years. Lord Denethor is a cunning leader. It was he who approached me. While, as her uncle, I cannot bear to see her go, as her King, I see the wisdom in this match."

"This match?" Eomer asked, taking a threatening step forward.

"Yes," Theoden said, trying to help his nephew through this. "She will be married to the Steward's eldest, Boromir."

"Married! She's only sixteen! There is time yet for her to consider marriage." Éomer turned, moving to one of the heavy wooden poles in the center of the hall and punched it in anger. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head, resting his head on the wood above where his blow had landed. "I don't understand. Éowyn's older by two years. I don't want this marriage for her either, but at least I would understand."

Theodon nodded. He had not looked forward to this conversation and, in all honesty, didn't blame his nephew for his anger one bit. Éowyn and Emilyn were the only daughters he had. His line now rested in Theodred alone, and the thought of sending one of the girls away broke his heart.

When Denethor had broached the subject with him, Theoden had rejected it outright. But the King of the white city was very convincing and Theoden could see the wisdom in it. He knew he would need to decide which of the girls would be best for the match and it was like trying to decide which of his arms to sever.

"It was the hardest decision I ever had to make," Theoden answered softly, and for the first time, Éomer could hear the anguish in his uncle's voice. "It had to be Emilyn," he said, this time barely above a whisper. Éowyn is a shieldmaiden, she was born for it. But Emilyn," he paused, smiling as he thought about his youngest niece, "fate has different plans for her." He looked up at Theoden. "You know that as well as I do."

"They won't be married now," Theoden assured him, "but in a few years, yes." The King put a fatherly hand on his marshall's shoulder. "Éomer, we are not losing her forever. She will spend half her time at Minis Tirith, and half her time here." Letting Éomer digest the information, Theodon poured them both a glass of strong, spiced wine.

"Emilyn has a lot of growing up to do," the King spoke, after taking a long sip. "For far too long she has been raised by men. It's partly my fault for indulging your sisters, but it is time for Emilyn to grow up." He handed a glass to his nephew. "She will be a woman soon. In Gondor she will have the proper influences. She will be around women of the court who can, hopefully, tame a bit of the wild spirit in her." Theoden laughed, taking another sip of his wine. "No doubt you heard about her most recent mishap?"

Shaking his head, Éomer finished his glass in one long gulp. "She mentioned something, but didn't give me the full story."

"It's of no matter," Theoden answered, taking a step towards Eomer. "This will be a good thing," he said, placing a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "I promise."


	2. New Friends

Ok, so if you're getting this update it's because I'm revising this story…so go back and reread chapter one!

After reading through the story a couple of days ago, it became VERY obvious to me that it could use a lot of work and a lot MORE! Needless to say, I took up the challenge and hope to make it ten times better. Consider it the 'extended edition'.

My job is to update often and I promise I will. Your job is to review…so please enjoy.

Again, know that this if fun fluff and should be taken as such

Oh, and I don't own any of these characters.

Now…onto the important stuff.

**Chapter Two: New Friends**

The party from Gondor arrived three days later. Since it had been some time since anything truly exciting had happened in the city, the party was greeted with both curiousity and enthusiasm. Villagers lined the streets, standing anxiously behind the Rohirrim guard for a glimpse of the arrivals from Gondor. For some who remembered the old days and had fought side by side with the men of Gondor, it was nothing of note. For those who were younger, the anticipation of getting to see soldiers from such an exotic and far sounding place was something that couldn't be missed. Parents set small children upon their shoulders to see, and women threw small flowers in front of the riders as they passed, their bright silver armour unlike anything they had ever seen. Everywhere in Edoras, the white tree of Gondor was being praised.

With great fanfare the men were led through the city to the very highest hill where the Golden Hall sat and the royal family stood waiting.

Standing silently between her uncle and her brother, Emilyn waited nervously. Dressed in her finest with long auburn curls pulled back, she was a far cry from the girl who had been cleaning the stables and running into her brother's arms just days before. Reaching next to her, she found Éomer's had and took hold. With a squeeze, Éomer assured her that all would be well and she was able to take in a deep breath, standing tall, and trying her hardest to match the Marshall's strong stance.

When the party reached the Great Hall the soldiers dismounted, the shining silver a stark contrast to the browns and other muted earth-tones that covered the city. Their horses were immediately tended to by stablemen who bowed politely and went about their duties. Stepping to the front of the party, Emilyn could distinctly make out a tall, older gentleman dressed all in gray. He carried a large wooden staff, and Emilyn couldn't help but notice that he had the look of mischief about him.

Stepping forward, Theoden moved towards his guests. "My friends," he called, embracing the older gentleman with a hug. "We are very glad that you are here." Emilyn noticed the kinship between the two and wondered why she had never seen the man before. Stepping back, her uncle and King addressed the rest of the visitors. "I know that your journey has been a tiring one. Please know that the people of Rohan are at your service. Take your rest and we shall feast in the Great Hall this evening!"

The crowd cheered, ready for a celebration.

"Thank you, King Theoden," the old man said, bowing deeply. "We are indeed very weary, and look forward to your hospitality."

With that, the chaos began again. The sound of clanking armour filled the air, along with the chatter of hundreds going back to their daily business. Turning, Éomer led his sisters back into the cool Hall, the scowl he had warn since returning still firmly in place.

"Is that all? Emilyn asked, looking to her family for some sort of explanation. She had been expecting something, but nothing that anti-climatic. After preparing herself for this moment since her uncle and brother had sat her down and told her about her betrothal, it seemed that something more should have happened.

"Patience, cousin," Theodred answered, coming behind her and ruffling the top of her head as if she were ten. "You will meet all of our guests this evening. Let them rest before having to deal with you. We want them to keep their end of this bargain, not run back to Minas Tirith thinking us uncivilized wildmen."

Not thinking it possible, Emilyn actually saw the scowl on her brother's face deepen as he moved toward his cousin.

"I think we could all use some rest before this evening's festivities," Theoden said, stepping in between the two young men. "This has been a lot of excitement for one day. Éomer," he continued softly, "would you please make certain the horses are all being cared for and that there is enough room in the stables. We would hate to cause our guests any discomfort." Sighing, he turned to his son. "Theodred, I expect you to help me with a few final preparations please." The two cousins parted ways, but not before giving each other one last glare before leaving the Hall.

Turning to Emilyn, Theoden smiled. "All will be well, my dear. For now," he said, speaking to her as if she were five. Emilyn grimaced, tired of everyone seeing her as only a child. "I want you and your sister to rest. We need both of you to do our kingdom proud tonight."

Soldier's from Gondor lined the sides of the Great Hall, their bright armor lighting up the wooden walls, the trees on the front of their breastplates making them look like a silver forest in the torchlight. Music filled the room as guests began to take their seats, preparing for the feast. For the second time that day, Emilyn found herself in line with the rest of her family, waiting for the emissaries from Minas Tirith to arrive. She was fidgeting with an unruly curl that had made its way in front of her face when she caught her sister's eye. "Be still," Éowyn whispered, fixing her piercing gold eyes upon her. Frowning, Emilyn tried to stand still, wishing she could match her sister in fierceness.

Busy studying the crest of the tree of Gondor on one of the soldier's breastplates, Emilyn missed when the two guests of honor entered the Hall. Lost in her own thoughts about what kind of place Minas Tirith might be, she was caught by surprise when, next to her, Theoden moved forward. "Welcome to the Great Hall of Edoras, Gandalf!" he announced with pride.

Emilyn had learned that afternoon while chatting with one of the servants that the old man was a wizard and she looked at him in amazement. She had never seen a wizard before, and, in all honesty, he was not what she had expected a wizard to look like at all.

Walking towards the King to embrace him, the wizard laughed. It was a friendly laugh that Emilyn instantly liked. Knowing he was being watched, the old man caught Emilyn's eye, giving her a friendly smile. A bright blush spread across Emilyn's face, and she quickly looked down, embarrassed that she had been caught staring, and hoping he didn't think her rude. It was polite, and she didn't want a wizard, most of all, thinking her rude.

"Thank you for your generosity," the wizard's voice boomed. "May I present Lord Faramir, Captain of the White Tower, Lord of Emyn Amen, and Prince of Ithilien."

From behind him, a younger gentleman stepped forward and bowed. Emilyn noted that he had a gentle face, and smiled easily, unlike the other soldiers from Gondor.

"Welcome to Edoras, Lord Faramir." Theoden announced stepping forward and embracing the younger man. "I would like to introduce you to my son, Theodred, Prince of Rohan, and Second Marshall of the Riddermark." Her cousin bowed grandly. "My nephew, Éomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark." Éomer bowed stiffly, scowl still in place. "My neice, Éowyn." Emilyn's sister stepped forward with a perfect cursty, doing her duty proudly.

"And this must be Emilyn," Gandalf interupted, taking a step towards her. There was an amused twinkle in his eyes as he looked Emilyn over. "She's a spirited one, Theoden," he said with a deep chuckle. "She will break many hearts." Emilyn gave a quick, awkward curtsy and smiled, knowing she liked the old wizard already.

Stepping forward, the young Captain Faramir knelt in front of Emilyn, taking her hand. "My father and brother send their apologies for not being here themselves. Having sent me in their stead, I welcome you to our family." Emilyn found herself smiling into his warm grey eyes that held amusement. "I hope we shall become very great friends."

Nodding, Emilyn moved towards Faramir, placing a light kiss on his cheek as she had been instructed. "I hope we shall," she said meaning every word and, for the first time in days, no longer fearing what new life might be awaiting her.


	3. Goodbyes

So…what do you guys think?

**Chapter 3: Goodbyes **

Enjoying the silence of the empty Great Hall, Faramir sat, taking in deep breaths and thinking about the days of travel to come. His father had made it very clear. They were not to tarry, but to bring the girl back to Minas Tirith as soon as possible. "There should be no delay," he'd said. He'd also make it known that his youngest son would be held responsible should they be delayed longer than need be.

Going through the list of supplies he still needed to gather, Faramir was not surprised when two cups of strong Rohan ale were slammed on the table in front of him and a very large and daunting young man took a seat across from him.

Faramir had been waiting for an encounter with the young Third Marshall of the Mark since shortly after their arrival. It was very apparent that the warrior was not pleased with the circumstances.

"Lord Éomer," Faramir said in greeting, certainly not surprised to see the ever-present scowl still on the Marshall's face. Faramir tried his best to smile politely, knowing that this meeting was going to take the diplomacy of Lord Elrond himself. But putting himself in the Marshall's shoes, he understood his anger completely.

Faramir thanked the Valor every day that he had not been blessed with a sister. Imagining how overprotective he and Boromir would be of her was amusing enough, but if his father suddenly declared that she was to be taken away and married off to a complete stranger…war would be the only answer.

Knowing the very same thought was going through the Third Marshall's head, Faramir did his best to speak words of assurance, as Gandalf had told him to do if the Marshall paid him a visit. "Lord Éomer, I want you to know…"

"Tell me of your brother," Éomer cut in. "I have no desire for empty promises and guarantees. I would have you speak to me as a kinsman. What kind of man is your brother?"

For a moment the anger broke and Faramir could see the sorrow underneath this pained brother's harsh words.

Faramir smiled slightly thinking Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, and took a drink of the stout beer. "My brother is the best of all there is in Gondor. He is everything I hope to one day be, and everything I wish I could be. He is the first and the last in all things that are good. Your sister is the luckiest woman in Middle-Earth to have gained such a match."

"My sister is young and silly," Éomer said, taking a long gulp from his mug. "'She may be a young woman, but has been spoiled here, and I'm afraid has developed quite a strong spirit inside of her."

Faramir nodded. "That is for certain. Gandalf could not stop speaking of the mischief he saw in her eyes."

The Marshall chuckled, swallowing the rest of his ale in one gulp. "Emilyn think she is far braver than she truly is." Looking up to Faramir, his light brown eyes asked for honesty. "She is foolish, and spirited, and perfect." Looking to the Steward's youngest son, he tried to convey more than his words could. "I have heard of the Steward's unyielding ways." The Marshall's face was lined with concern. "I don't want her broken. I want her to stay silly, and foolish."

Nodding, Faramir looked the concerned brother in the face, and there was only honesty and truth in the words he spoke. "I swear that my brother and I will die before we see her crushed under my father's will."

Wiping away a tear, Emilyn brushed Lindel's mane, letting out a little sob as the horse nudged her mistress's cheek. She kissed the horse's velvety nose, letting tears fall down her cold cheeks, the cold air in the stable only making her all the more miserable.

"I'm sorry, Lindel," she said, barely able to speak the words out loud, "but you have to stay here. You're leg just isn't well enough to travel to Gondor. I'll see you before long though" she paused, giving the horse's soft ears a good pet. "I told Halda not to let any of the mean boys ride you," she said, smiling sadly for the horse's sake and sniffled a little bit. "If they try, you bite them." The horse snorted, as if in agreement with her plan.

"She's going to miss you," came a voice from behind her. Quickly wiping away her tears, Emilyn turned to see Faramir leaning over the stall. He ran a gentle hand down Lindel's back, admiring the horse.

"It's obvious how much she loves you." Faramir looked at Emilyn's tear stained face, trying not to laugh. "There's more than enough room for her in the stables at Minas Tirith. There's no need for her to stay behind."

Emilyn nodded silently, trying not to cry again. She promised herself that she would be strong. Éowyn wouldn't be caught in the stable crying like a baby. Her sister would be stalwart, and brave, and everything a woman of Rohan should be.

"I know," she finally managed to squeak out, taking a deep breath, "but she can't go, and it's entirely my fault." Unable to hold back the tears anymore, Emilyn let them fall in giant sobs, sinking to the straw covered floor, her face in her hands.

Hurrying into the stall, Faramir sat down next to her on a spot of clean hay. "It's nothing to fret over," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her. "I'm certain it can't nearly be as awful as you think."

"Yes," Emilyn sobbed, nodding emphatically. "If I hadn't have been so foolish she would be fine, but now she has to stay behind."

Faramir, slightly concerned that the poor girl was so upset about the horse, still didn't quite understand. "Would you care to tell me about it?"

Sniffling, and wiping her eyes dry, Emilyn nodded. "I was worried because Éomer and his Riders had been gone for so long." She looked at Faramir, her dark eyes full of tears, as if he should understand completely why she did what she did. Her eyes telling him that it wasn't her mistake, but the fate's for keeping her brother away for so long. "So I took Lindel to go find them. Everyone thinks I'm just a child, so I thought I would show them that I'm not. That I can do just as much as Eowyn can."

Amused by her bravery, Faramir asked her to continue. "Did you? Find him, I mean?" he amended.

Emilyn looked down at her hands, a very serious frown across her brow. "No. I rode all morning heading east, because that's where they are most concerned about the borders," she said matter-of-factly. "I came to a steep hill and pushed Lindel too hard. She got spooked and, when she reared back, landed on her leg wrong. She's not yet healed and can't be ridden yet."

Stunned by her audacity, Faramir couldn't help but recall his conversation with her brother. She was indeed far too brave for her own good. Gandalf had certainly been correct as well. She was a spirited one.

"You know," he said, after thinking a moment. "My brother and I took on a band of orcs when I wasn't much older than you, but we weren't nearly as brave."

Letting out a short giggle, Emilyn wiped her eyes again. "I don't believe that."

"No, really," Faramir insisted, nudging her with his shoulder. "We had heard reports from my father's guards that some orcs had been seen near the river. Boromir and I decided to find them. So early one morning we took our bows and made the trek across the Pelennor to Osgiliath." Faramir's eyes smiled as he told the story. "We hid ourselves on top of the city walls all day, waiting for any sign of the orc invaders," he said with great drama, eliciting another laugh from his audience. "Finally, just before sunset a fat, round orc came waddling into our view. Boromir saw him first and drew his bow, waiting for just the right moment to fire. He saw his chance and his arrow sailed through the air, striking the creature in the leg. The orc let out a screech and ran off, afraid of getting caught. We couldn't see where he ran off to because a line of trees blocked our view, and tried to lean over the wall so we knew where to pick up the chase. I was a bit over zealous in my attempt and fell, landing in the grass below with a thud."

"Were you hurt?" Emilyn asked, so entranced in the story that she didn't hear anyone else enter the stables.

"I broke my collar bone and my leg, and had a very badly bruised ego in spite of it all. Thankfully some soldiers had seen us that morning and had been keeping an eye on us all day to make sure we didn't get in too much trouble."

Emilyn smiled, eyeing him carefully to see if he was telling the truth.

Seeing her doubt, Faramir laughed. I swear to you, every bit is true. Boromir will verify everything when we arrive at Minas Tirith. Now, I'll tell you what we'll do," he said. "We'll leave Lindel here to get better for now, and I promise you that, in a month, when she's better, I will send one of my men to get her and bring her to Minas Tirith."

"You promise?" Emilyn asked, not entirely sure she could trust him, but everything inside her told her that she could. That he was the most trustworthy person she had ever met.

Faramir smiled. "I promise. But now," he said looking to Gandalf who was standing outside the stall watching the two with secret delight. "I believe it is time we go," he whispered.

"It is," the wizard said with a nod. "Your family is waiting to say goodbye."

Standing, Faramir took Emilyn's hand and they walked out into the crisp morning air.

Théoden was the first to greet Emilyn on the steps outside the Golden Hall. Summoning every bit of his kingly power, he vowed that he would not shed tears. He gave the young girl a warm hug and with a very serious expression spoke to her. "Emilyn, I will dearly miss you, and I know that you will do your best to make me and your people proud. You are a woman now. Don't forget that."

Emilyn nodded slowly. "I promise, uncle." Kissing her forehead, he ushered her on to Théodred, fearing even his own bravery would be unable to keep tears back.

Théodred extended a handshake. "Take care cousin, I'll miss you. Don't cause too much trouble for the steward." Emilyn smiled slightly, looked at the proffered hand, and after some consideration, ran to her cousin for a hug. Théodred hugged her back, tears welling in his own eyes as she moved on to her sister.

"These are for your journey," Éowyn said, handing her a package full of small squares of apple cake, her back stiff, her chin held high. "Frisa made them for you. She knows how you love your sweets." Emilyn whispered a 'thank you' and gave her sister a hug.

Moving slowly, Emilyn finally made her way to where her brother stood. He knelt down in front of her, welcoming her into his arms. They held each other tightly, neither one wanting to let go. Éomer finally pushed his sister back, desperately trying to hide the tears that he knew would come once he was alone.

"Don't forget a thing I taught you," he told her firmly. "Take care of yourself, understand?" Emilyn nodded, tears starting to fall. "If you have any problems you find Mithrandir or Faramir and they'll send for me. And if you have any problems with Boromir, he'll answer to me." Pulling her close once more, he tried to hold her tight enough to never forget her right now, knowing that she would not be the same girl he knew the next time he saw her. "I love you, Emilyn, never forget that," he whispered.

Wiping her tears away, he tried to assure both her and himself. "We'll see each other soon." Emilyn nodded as Faramir took her hand and led her to the horses. Standing, Éomer turned to Gandalf. "Take care of her," he said.

The wizard nodded, knowing the pain Théoden's best warrior was fighting. "With my very life," Gandalf assured him.


	4. Of Fields and Forests

Ok. So…I changed one very important thing in chapter one for those of you who haven't just started reading a couple of days ago. Instead of having Emilyn be thirteen at the start, I've bumped her age up to sixteen. This makes many things easier, and it will be much more fun. This puts her at about 23 when Boromir leaves for Rivendell.

Also…no longer will I allow a certain friend of mine to refer to my work as "Tolkein Trash". I prefer "Fun with Tolkein" or "For the Love of Tolkein". The person I am referring to may be reading this right now, and I hope she has it straight .

Anyway, on with the story.

Oh, and I don't own any of this.

PS. Reviews are wonderful things.

**Chapter Four: Of Fields and Forests**

They rode hard all the along the Great West Road heading towards the East stopping only to stretch their legs and let the horses drink from the streams that crossed their path. Finally, when the sun began to set, Faramir gave the order to stop and set up camp.

As the soldiers dismounted their horses, one came over and helped Emilyn from her own, lifting her as if she were nothing at all. Walking stiffly from being in the saddle for so long she made her way to where Faramir was giving instructions.

"Some water, my lady." Another Gondorian soldier offered her a flask of water. Emilyn took it gratefully, quenching her dry and dusty throat. She was dirty, sore, exhausted, and perfectly content. For years she'd wanted to see beyond the fields of Rohan, but she always heard the same answers when she'd begged her brother and cousin to take her. "You're too young." "It's too dangerous." But now she was here, enjoying the crisp wind and plains of the Folde stretching out in front of her. Rough fields of brown lay in front of her for miles, immense mountains of rock rising up around them, their white capped peaks a strange contrast to the barren land around them.

The sounds of men and horses surrounded her, almost lulling her to sleep. Nearby, a voice was asking her a question, but exhaustion was taking hold, causing her to have to think a minute before answering. Turning towards where the voice, she saw Faramir, brows raised, a bit of laughter on his face.

"Did you say something?" Emilyn asked wearily.

Unable to hold his laughter inside, Faramir nodded. "I did, and you just answered my question." Handing her a piece of dried meat and cheese, he led her to the other side of where a fire was being lit. "I asked if you were tired, and right now, I think you could fall asleep where you stand."

They came to a stop where thick blankets were being laid out in the dry grass. "Rest," Faramir told her softly. "We have three more long days ahead of us."

Making her way to the hard, blanket covered ground, Emilyn's head touched the rough wool, and she remembered no more.

Emilyn woke the next morning quite confused. Opening her eyes, she expected to see the tapestries that lined her room in Edoras, a warm fire having been lit and heating the place comfortably. Instead, she woke cold, and sore, and very much in a strange place. Emilyn didn't remember going to bed the night before, and knew that it had been true fatigue that had done her in.

The camp was waking as well, horses were being readied, fires being quenched, and Emilyn knew they would not tarry here long. Sitting up slowly first, she then managed to stand. A daughter of Rohan she may be, but not one used to such a long ride in the saddle. No longer cocooned in blankets, she found the air frigid, the coolness taking her breath away.

"Good morning," came the deep, friendly voice of Mithrandir next to her. "Did you sleep well?"

With a tired smile, Emilyn nodded. "Indeed I did. I never knew one could sleep through an entire night on the ground as if it were a bed made for a king."

Gandalf chuckled. "I've always found sleeping in the company of the constellations a thing of beauty, if only the rocks weren't so hard." Emilyn laughed. "Here," Gandalf said, handing her a bowl of porridge. "Eat well. We've another long day ahead of us."

Thanking him, Emilyn took the bowl. "Where is Lord Faramir?" she asked, taking a spoonful, the thick oats warming her.

"Readying the riders," Gandalf replied. "The Steward is anxious for our return, and Faramir feels he must please him in this."

Emilyn couldn't help but notice the change in the old wizard's expression. "What if something happens that is out of his control?" she asked. "What if a horse is injured, or a soldier falls and breaks his leg?"

Nodding, Gandalf pondered the thought before answering. "Then Faramir will see to it that doesn't happen." With measured words, Gandalf spoke carefully. "One does what is asked by the Steward. Faramir has no desire to displease his father."

Taking another quick bite of her oatmeal, Emilyn nodded, still certain there was something she was not understanding completely.

Faramir check the straps and saddle on Emilyn's horse one last time before moving onto his own animal. He had told the men they were to set out early in the morning and around the camp the men were busy readying their gear.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Emilyn's voice from behind him. Smiling, doing his best to hide his anxiousness to get the group moving, Faramir turned to his young charge.

Sighing, he paused. "Would you help with his bit?"

Going to work, Emilyn handled the leather reins with ease, gently soothing the horse. It was evident the young Captain was anxious about setting off for the day, and she watched him while he worked. She wasn't used to men like him. The men of Rohan, her uncle, her cousin, her brother, were made to be warriors. They prided themselves on their toughness, their valor. But there was something else that made up this son of Gondor. There was a stillness about him, a presence of peace, and knowledge. It intrigued her. He seemed to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he held it with honor.

Working together they readied the animal, Faramir, thankful for her help, and Emilyn just grateful to be able to help this gentle man next to her.

They continued moving East throughout the day. As the afternoon hours dragged on, Gandalf began to lighten the mood by singing. At first, they were old songs from the first age, then songs of the country and odd people who stood feet shorter than most men. Finally, Emilyn recognized songs of the Horse Lords and joined in during the choruses, both her and the wizard laughing when Faramir attempted to take part.

"One thing we know for certain," Gandalf said, stopping to catch his breath. "The house of the Steward is not one of singers."

"I take great offense at that," Faramir said, pretending to be greatly hurt.

"I'm sure there are beautiful songs from Gondor," Emilyn stepped in, trying to ease Faramir's hurt pride. Then, looking at him she gave him a smile. "They just shouldn't be sung by you."

Bursting out into laughter, Gandalf let out a delighted, "here, here," spurring his horse forward, his laughter echoing behind him.

Chuckling, Faramir looked to Emilyn, the laughter still in his own eyes. "Remind me not to get into a match of wits against you."

Feeling a bit of guilt for playing the joke at his expense, Emilyn shrugged. "It comes from living in a house of men. I guess, perhaps, that was my gift?"

"What do you mean?" Faramir asked, curious.

"I have the heart of someone who wants to be a warrior, but knows they would sadly fail." She looked out to the road lying in front of them. "I wasn't born to be a Shield-maiden like Éowyn, I can ride fairly well, and can even manage to swing a sword, but not as I should." Emilyn sighed. "He never said it, but I think that's way my uncle chose me to go with you. I don't think he knew what to do with me. Since I'm not like Éowyn, this was the best way I could serve my people."

"I know something of about not being what people expect of you," Faramir answered honestly, empathizing with her emotions, knowing them all too well. "I am not my brother," he said, thinking inwardly of his father's face and the disappointment he constantly saw there. "I will never be as brave, or strong, or grand as him. I don't know that my father will ever accept that."

Seeing the same pain in his eyes, Emilyn looked over and gave him a half-hearted grin. "Then I guess we are both just a pair of defects, trying to find our way in a world of champions."

Faramir smiled. "How true you are."

As the day went on, the sun began to set and trees began to rise up around them. Emilyn had heard tales of Fangorn forest and each one served as a warning to never go near it for fear of the Huorns and other frightening creatures that lurked about there. Growing nervous as the sky became blocked from view, Emilyn had to remind herself that this was not Fangorn with its nightmarish tales, but the Firien wood. She had heard no evil tales of it.

They stopped in the heart of the forest in order to make camp, something Emilyn had dreaded doing since they'd entered the wood.

"Are you certain it's safe to camp here?" Emilyn asked Faramir, trying not to sound as nervous as she was.

"I heartily assure you, there is nothing to fear from the woods. I've already sent a couple of men ahead to hunt for something to roast for dinner." Unsaddling his horse, he gave her a wink.

Nodding, Emilyn went about taking care of her animal, her eyes constantly looking at the dark green canopy above her, searching for a bit of sky, or a star, but saw nothing.

"It's different than the plains of Rohan is it not?" Gandalf asked, from nearby, sitting underneath a giant oak tree, puffing on a long pipe.

"Very different," Emilyn answered, going and taking a seat next to him. Craning her neck, she looked up, trying to see where the oak tree ended.

"I've heard that it can be very disconcerting to be inside a forest instead of on the open plains." The look he gave her assuring her that he understood her nervousness.

"It's so tight," she responded. "The air is even thick." Frowning, Emilyn shook her head, her dislike of the place obvious.

Letting out a deep exhale of aromatic smoke, Gandalf stared up into the ceiling of branches and leaves. "Some find the closeness of the forest comforting and feel very vulnerable under miles and miles of open sky. The gift is finding the beauty of both. Ah," he said motioning towards three soldiers entering the clearing, rabbits in hand. "It looks like they've found us some dinner."

Faramir had a restless night. While thunder rumbled in the distance, Faramir tossed and turned, haunted by dreams and visions of things he couldn't understand: a voice crying out in the dark, a broken sword, the east sky darkening as a deep voice laughed, taunting him, moving him to fight battles he knew he could not win. Finally he managed to find rest when a loud clap of thunder startled him from his sleep again. Deciding sleep was useless, and knowing that dawn couldn't be too far away, he stood and went to the fire, the last embers doing little to warm him.

"Faramir?" a quiet voice called from behind in the darkness.

The younger son of the steward blinked back memories of his strange dreams to find Emilyn next to him. In the dark she appeared more as a ghost than the flesh and blood girl he knew her to be.

"Emilyn," he managed to say. "You should be sleeping. We've two more good days of riding ahead."

Looking up at him, her pale face frightened, her body shivering, she spoke in a whisper. "I couldn't sleep," she said, her dark eyes searching the forest around them. "I don't like it here."

Grabbing his own blanket from the ground, he put it around her shoulders, pulling her closer to the small fire, and sitting down beside her. "Why, what on earth has happened?"

"The forest is stifling," she admitted quickly. "Gandalf told me I should see the beauty of it, but I can't. I woke because of the thunder, but then there was a laughing on the wind." She paused. "It was sinister and evil. Dark and heavy, but I couldn't tell where it came from."

Faramir's heart stopped at her words, but he tried to comfort her, putting his arm around her and pulling her close, hoping to reassure himself as well. "I'm sure it was just the storm. The thunder sometimes echoes through the trees and the animals of the forest call to each other, warning of the coming rain."

Emilyn shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. "No, it was definitely laughter."

"I see," Faramir said knowing all too well she spoke the truth. "Well," he answered, trying to change the subject, "since I can't sing you to sleep, how about if I tell you a story."

"That would be much lovelier than a song," Emilyn admitted with a sigh, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Smiling, and relieved not to be alone after the night he'd had as well, Faramir leaned his head against hers. He pulled her close, gathering more warmth from her. Emilyn smiled listening to his steady breathing.

In a whisper, he began to tell her a story his mother used to tell him, a sweet story of open fields and elves that would make mortals dreams come true. Closing his eyes memories of his mother came flooding back to him. She hadn't belonged in this evil time, and neither did this young woman. Emilyn didn't deserve what he feared would inevitably come to their world. Turning from the thoughts of fear and dread, he continued with his story, trying to only see the world as his mother had, a world of goodness and light.

The fear and unease in Emilyn's mind faded as she listened to the soft, peaceful melody of Faramir's voice. Placing a hand close to where her head lay she could feel the soft rumble in his chest, his heart, beating in a calm rhythm. Soon her own breathing grew unbroken, and she slept peacefully, safe, protected, and very much cared for.


	5. Old Kings and Mad Stewards

Enjoy!

**Chapter Five: Old Kings and Mad Stewards**

After two more nights under the stars, Emilyn was grateful to hear that they would reach Minas Tirith before sunset. While anxious for a soft, warm bed and decent food, she couldn't shake the nervousness that followed her. It was a sense of foreboding she couldn't quite place. Yes, she was nervous about her new life in the White City. Yes, she was still unsure exactly how she felt about the "betrothal". And yes, the thought of meeting both Boromir Captain of the White Tower and the Steward himself made her quake in her boots, but this was something different, something dark and lurking.

Quickly leaving their camp, the party set off, Emilyn riding next to Faramir. Looking next to her, she could sense that the Captain's mood had changed. His jaw was just a bit tighter, the light-hearted manner he wore so easily, had been replaced by a sort of regret. While the small party of soldiers was looking forward to returning to the White City, there seemed as if something in Faramir was not.

Before Emilyn could ask him what exactly was troubling him, the land opened up and there it stood, Minas Tirith, its tall towers stretching to the sky. It appeared more a city from a strange fantasy than someplace real and solid. Originally named Minas Anor, the tower of the sun, it stood against the White Mountains as if it were one of them, majestic and powerful.

"That, my dear, is your new home," Gandalf said with a nod, pulling his horse up next to hers. "You won't find a fairer city in all the world of men. We should be there by mid-morning." The wizard spurred his horse forward, moving the rest of the party on towards the city.

Emilyn must have been standing there dumbfounded at the sight of Minas Tirith for some time because, when she turned to Gandalf, she realized that most of the party was yards ahead of her.

Reining her horse in tightly, Emilyn held back, watching the city ahead of her. A knot was forming in her stomach. For so long she had wanted to be older, to follow in her sister's steps, to be a woman of Rohan. Now, she realized she didn't want anything more than to turn back time and be small and innocent, when betrothals were something unreal and not waiting ahead for her. When doing her duty for her people meant learning how to ride before the age of five. She wanted to be snuggled against her brother, listening to frightening stories from ages past, and running wild in the plains.

Ahead of her, a horse had left the column and was swiftly returning to where she sat, frozen.

"Are you all right?" Faramir asked, concern lining his face. "Do we need to stop?"

Shaking her head, Emilyn kicked her heels and raced to rejoin the rest of the party. She was a woman of Rohan, and would be strong. She owed it to her family, and to her people.

As they entered the great gates of Minas Tirith, Emilyn couldn't help but gasp. She had never seen anything like it before. The entire city was made of white stone, aptly earning its name. Reaching upwards as far as her eyes could see, Emilyn strained her neck trying to see the top. Gandalf, smiling at her reaction, continued leading the party through the city's streets, followed by Faramir, winding their way to the Hall of the Stewards.

Along the way, Emilyn got her first look at the people of Gondor. Curious citizens gathered in doorways and outside shops to see their young Captain and the familiar wizard's return. Smiling nervously as she passed, Emilyn was slightly shocked at how different, yet similar, the people of Gondor were to those of Rohan. She had never seen so many with rich, dark hair. Everyone was well-dressed, and the absence of the blowing wind was a refreshing change. The people were refined, not used to living off the land. The young woman, catching their eyes, only to have them turn away for fear of being impolite, wondered exactly how she was going to fit in here.

Up and up they went through the city. Emilyn's mind could barely keep up, there was too much to see, too much to try and take in.

Before she knew it, they had reached the highest level of the city where the Tower Hall was located. Instantly, Emilyn recognized the lifeless tree planted in a square of lush green grass, a true version of the one worn on the breastplate of Gondor's soldiers. Absent-mindedly she dismounted and a guard took her horse as she stared at the cathedral-like building in front of her.

Without a minute to think, Gandalf and Faramir were beside her, leading her forward. Four guards opened the huge doors allowing the trio to enter.

Walking proudly next to her two protectors, she tried her best to keep from looking at the grim statues of kings from the past that lined the walls. For a moment, she could swear they were watching her, judging her, their presence as strong as any living being she'd ever met.

"I'm frightened, Gandalf," she whispered.

Continuing forward, Gandalf spoke to her under his breath. "There is no need. You have nothing to fear here. You have strong allies beside you."

Nodding, Emilyn quickly glanced at Faramir who gave her a reassuring smile. "You will be fine," he whispered.

The echoing of their footsteps finally came to a stop and she heard Gandalf's voice fill the hall. "Greetings from Rohan, Denethor Lord Steward."

Summoning her courage, Emilyn finally looked up at the man sitting in front her. The steward of Gondor looked nothing like she had expected. From what she'd heard, she was expecting a giant of a man with looks that would frighten even her uncle into submission. What she saw in front of her, instead, was a broken man. A man looking down at the three of them with disgust, a deep frown on his already troubled face, his shoulders slumped as if he was a part of the chair he held so tightly too.

Bowing before the steward, Gandalf spoke again, "May I present the young lady Emilyn, daughter of Éomund of the Eastfold, and niece of Théoden King." Emilyn took a couple steps forward and did her best royal curtsy.

The steward's eyes narrowed as he studied her. "This is no child of Rohan," he finally proclaimed belligerently. "It is my understanding that children of the Riddermark have hair that shines as the sun. This child's locks are that of autumn leaves." He turned his gaze to Gandalf. "What game is it that you play with me, Stormcrow? I dislike of it."

Gandalf, somewhat taken aback, put a protective arm around the young woman's shoulders. "I assure you, my lord, this child is a direct heir to Théoden."

Letting out a disgruntled 'hmph', Denethor looked towards Emilyn again, sinking further down into his throne. Opening his mouth to speak, he was silenced when Emilyn stepped forward.

Against her better judgment, the young woman moved towards the Steward, all her fears erased when she'd heard her people mocked. How dare this decrepit, sad looking man speak against those who were stronger and more kingly than him?

"I am the first in many years to have hair the color that I do," Emilyn said bravely, "but I can assure you, my lord, that my brother and sister's hair is light enough to find your favor." The hall was filled with a deafening silence at her words, Gandalf being even at a loss for what to say while Faramir looked on with shock.

"Then perhaps they should be here to vouch for your...authenticity," Denethor spat cruelly. Rising from his seat, he walked towards her. "I will not be spoken to this way in my own kingdom." Emilyn bit back the comment that it was not truly a kingdom because he was not the king. Denethor looked her over again with his calculating glare. "Perhaps your uncle should have focused more on teaching you manners than riding horses."

Emilyn raised her fiery, dark eyes to him in a challenge. "My uncle taught me how to recognize the difference between men and beasts, and how to treat both accordingly." There was another stung silence as Denethor's cold, piercing gaze of gray met her own.

"Father," Faramir said, stepping forward trying to defuse the tension. "We have had a tiresome journey, perhaps it would be best to retire and meet again for dinner." Shooting his son an angry look, Denethor ordered him to be silent.

"Faramir is correct," Gandalf added. "Let's set this aside for later."

Not wanting to give up a fight so easily, Denethor looked again at the girl standing defiantly in front of him. "Very well," he said grudgingly. "I expect your brother back any time, and I hope, Gandalf the Gray, that your charge learns some manners before we next meet." Turning to his son, he spoke again, disgust in his voice. "We would speak in private."

Turning towards Faramir when his father spoke, Emilyn saw his spirit fall. His shoulders slumped, and he nodded grimly. Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer to the Steward.

Gandalf was silent as he walked Emilyn to where her room was to be in the steward's palace. He smiled and nodded to a few servants along the way, each watching the young girl with interest.

"This is the hall where the family resides. The steward's sons occupy the two large rooms at the end of the hall, while Denethor's chambers are around the corner." He stopped at a door decorated with leaves and flowers ingrained in the wood. "This will be yours," he said opening the door and leading her inside. "It was made years ago for any young ladies of the house. Unfortunately there hasn't been any in some time."

The room was, much like the rest of the city, grand and richly decorated. There was a large, comfortable bed, a shelf full of books of various sizes, and a dark wood desk that sat in front of a window looking out over the Pelennor fields and to the border defense of Osgiliath in the distance. There was another room connected to this one from which a woman in the light blue attire of a servant entered. She smiled and curtsied to the pair.

"Ah," Gandalf said introducing her with a smile. "This is Roma. She will be your lady in waiting. Well," he said surveying the room. "I will leave you to get situated. There is another matter I must attend to a distance away, and I fear I may be quite late." He gave Emilyn a fatherly nod. "I return when our hunt is finished." He took a step to leave, but Emilyn stopped him.

"Gandalf," she said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."

Turning back to her, Gandalf chuckled; delight filling his eyes, a look that Emilyn had grown to enjoy in a very short time. "There's no need to apologize, child. I have not seen Denethor that flustered in a long time. It did him good," he admitted with a wink. "Rest now; you've had a rough journey. Roma will help you with anything you need, as well as Faramir." He lowered his voice a bit, speaking to her softly, knowing how different this world was to her. "You will find that the people of Gondor are just as warm, kind, and loving as those of the Riddermark." With that he left, shutting the door behind him, he left Emilyn suddenly feeling very alone and very unsure of what to do next in this new home of hers.


	6. An Awkward Dinner

Chapter Six: An Awkward Dinner

Emilyn examined herself in the mirror, not recognizing the person staring back at her. Thanks to Roma, her curls were pulled back and held in place with small white flowers matching the embroidery on her creamy violet dress. Gone was the young woman of Rohan, replaced by some strange creature that Emilyn was unaccustomed to. Never before had she worn colors that brought out her creamy, ivory complexion and the combination of cinnamon, chestnut, and mahogany in her eyes.

A slight frown turned her lips down. "I still look like a child," she said frustrated.

Laying her hand on Emilyn's shoulders, Roma place a couple of stray curls back where they should be, and looked at her in the mirror. "That's because you are a child. You will be woman soon enough, and a beautiful one at that."

Letting out a disgruntled, "hmmph," Emilyn studied herself again. "Do you know the Steward's son, Boromir, Roma?"

Roma let out a girlish giggle. "Of course, my lady, everyone in the city knows Lord Boromir." The older woman tied a ribbon necklace around Emilyn's throat, and she could have sworn the serving woman was blushing. "Why, Lord Boromir is the greatest man in Gondor, apart from the Steward, of course. He's brave and handsome, and…"

"Is he much like his brother?" Emilyn asked, trying to paint a picture of her betrothed. It seemed that separating myth from reality was becoming difficult.

"Oh no," Roma said, shaking her head. "Where Lord Faramir has a gentle demeanor, his brother has been a warrior since the day he was born."

"Have you been here that long?" Emilyn asked, watching the different emotions that played across the woman's face.

"Oh yes," Roma sighed. "I served the Lady Finduilas before she left us. I saw both her sons brought into the world." Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "What a different place this city would be now if the Lady hadn't have been taken from us."

"She must have been a wonderful woman," Emilyn said softly, thinking about her own mother lost so many years ago. She had tried many times to remember what her mother had looked like, what she sounded like, but all she had were images and feelings. Éomer had told her and Éowyn stories about their mother and father, trying to keep their memories alive, but glimpses of warmth and happiness were all she had left.

Making herself comfortable on a cushioned stool, Roma continued. "She was that indeed, my dear. A more beautiful woman you would never have met. Oh, and how the Steward loved her." Emilyn looked at her doubtfully. "He wasn't the man then that he is now." Roma continued. "It's true. The Steward was once a kind man, a loving husband, and a good leader to his people. But after Finduilas died, something broke inside of him and never been mended." Shaking her head she stood. "Enough sad stories for one evening. Here you are looking like a princess, preparing for one of the biggest nights of your life, and me, waxing sentimental." She gave Emilyn a wink. "I hear your Lord Boromir returned to the city today and is to be at dinner."

"He's not my Lord Boromir," Emilyn mumbled, hoping the woman hadn't heard.

Standing, Emilyn did one last check in the mirror. She had to make up for her disastrous meeting this morning with the Steward. As much as she wished she could race back to Edoras right this moment, and as afraid as she was of facing the Steward again; she was more afraid of failing.

Boromir ran a hand through his hair, buttoning his doublet for the third time. "Ridiculous," he spat. "Absolutely ridiculous!"

Turning to his brother who was waiting patiently for him to get ready, the eldest son of the Steward grimaced. "He couldn't even warn me. I swear to you, Faramir, he did this on purpose."

Faramir began to object, but was interrupted before he could do so.

"He waited until I was out checking the borders before he made his move."

"Surely not," Faramir protested. "Father would never do anything as devious as that." He tried to stifle a grin. Seeing the Captain-General of Gondor so flustered was a rarity, and one that Faramir was thoroughly enjoying.

Letting out a groan, Boromir fell back into a chair, nearly downing a full glass of wine in one gulp. "So tell me about this girl," he said, his entire being full of derision.

Faramir leaned back against the heavy wood dresser, arms crossed. "She is extremely pretty, very bright," he paused, "and young."

"How young?" Boromir asked carefully, not quite certain he truly wanted to know the answer.

Taking a deep breath, Faramir answered. "Sixteen."

"By all the gods," Boromir swore, finishing his glass and slamming it down harder than necessary. Shaking his head and running his hand through his hair, he muttered another curse. "This will be a disaster," he warned.

Quiet conversations filled the dining room as the dinner plates were being taken away. It had been an awkward evening from the start and promised not to get much better. Emilyn had been received with a frown by the Steward, bowed before her betrothed, and barely even dared to look up at him. She could feel herself shaking so badly she was afraid to pick up her silverware, fearing she would prove herself clumsy.

Her only comfort was that she was seated between Faramir and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, the Steward's brother-in-law. Having Faramir's comforting presence next to her finally allowed her a moment to breathe. And when the Prince asked her about her life in Rohan, she was able to feel like herself again.

Emilyn shared story after story about her family with the young Captain and the Prince, stories that would embarrass her brother to no end if he knew they were being repeated. For the first time since she'd entered the White City, she felt comfortable.

Hearing her excited, feminine voice at the end of the table, Boromir rolled his eyes. Catching the look on his brother's face, Faramir's smile fell, pitying both his older brother and the young woman next to him. It was such a shame that these two vibrant souls were being used as pawns in his father's game.

"Denethor," Prince Imrahil called out next to Emilyn, "if Boromir won't have her, I am certain your young lady of Rohan would be adored in Dol Amroth." Bringing a laugh to the rest of the table, Denethor only nodded politely finding the joke unamusing.

Boromir, growing more and more impatient and disgusted, excused himself to get some air. Seeing his son's discomfort, Denethor stood, following his eldest into one of the gardens adjoining the dining hall.

Sensing his father behind him, Boromir turned. "Father, please tell me this is some sort of jest," he said running a hand through his hair in the nervous way he did. "The girl is sixteen."

"And she will be nineteen in three years and her age will no longer matter," his father responded. Denethor moved close to his son. "Son, do this for your country. Gondor is going to need all the help it can when the dark times come, and an alliance with the royal blood of Rohan would strengthen our chances when war comes. You know this," he said, fear gripping his voice. "Do you see it not?"

"No," Boromir said shaking his head at the insanity. "All I see is that you want me to wed a girl nineteen years my junior, a child. You've robbed the cradle for my bride, a woman-child I want nothing to do with! I refuse to!" Boromir stormed out of the garden in frustration, leaving his father to return to his guests.


	7. Of Bows and Arrows

This one was fun to write Enjoy!

**Chapter Seven: Of Bows and Arrows**

**3015**

"Roma, I swear, if you keep bringing me pastries like this I'll be as big as a house," Emilyn said, taking a bite of warm cinnamon bread.

"Pish posh," Roma grinned, waving away her mistress's comment. "A woman needs a little meat on her bones. How else do you think I came to have five children?"

Emilyn snorted, not wanting to think about her dear, plump serving woman in any position of that sort.

"Besides," Roma continued, "all my babes are grown, and with my husband gone, I have no one to cook for."

Since the older woman's youngest son had married last year, Roma had been waxing sentimental more than usual. Teary eyed and emotional, she felt old and useless. Emilyn figured that if fawning over her and becoming a replacement child for awhile would make Roma feel better, then that's what she would do.

"Oh my," Roma said, flustered. "I almost forgot, such an old woman I am." Shuffling in her basket, she found what she was looking for. "This came for you. One of the riders brought it this morning." Handing Emilyn the letter, Roma went about her daily routine, making up the bed, setting out her mistress's dress for the evening.

With another piece of cinnamon bread in one hand, Emilyn made herself comfortable in the window seat, curious about what was inside. Taking a bite of the warm bread, she broke the wax seal and read.

Emilyn,

It seems like ages since you've been home. I wish I wrote with better news, but I am sorry to say that there is too much orc activity for me, or our uncle, to feel it safe enough for you to travel to Edoras yet. It is simply not a risk we are willing to take. Though I do send some hope. It has been over three years since you were home, and I refuse to allow my sister to grow up without seeing her. You are eighteen now, and I doubt I will even recognize you. I hope to make it to Minas Tirith in the next two months.

With all my love, I remain,

Your brother,

Éomer.

She smiled at her brother's scrawling script, and slowly closed the letter, tucking it in the pocket of her dress. Jumping up, she rushed to the mirror, pulling her hair back quickly, unconcerned that the curls were a colossal mess. Grabbing what was left of the package of cinnamon bread, she gave Roma a quick hug.

"Heavens child," Roma laughed. "It must have been good news?"

"The best," Emilyn beamed. "I'll be back later," she called rushing out the door.

"Slow down!" the older woman called after her, arms full of blankets. "Remember you are a lady, not a heathen!"

Running through the street, she raced to the ancient library, knowing exactly where he would be this time of day. "Faramir!" she called as soon as she hit the doors. "Faramir!" She found him buried in a stack of old texts, Gandalf at his side, smoking on a pipe and pouring over an aged scroll.

Breathlessly, Emilyn pushed some curls back in place and spoke again, finally getting his attention. "Faramir, you will never believe it, the most wonderful news ever!"

"Emilyn," Gandalf said, looking up from the worn page in front of him. "This is not the place to barge into like a wild woman. Now, what has you in such a fit?" Smiling, Emilyn sat down next to Faramir, holding out her brother's letter and giving the old wizard the last of Roma's bread. Faramir took the paper and began to read, his face set in a scholarly line. Gandalf chuckled at this and looked back down at his work, taking a long puff on his pipe and a very satisfied bite of pastry.

Too impatient to let Faramir finish reading, Emilyn helped out. "Éomer, my brother, is coming to Minas Tirith," she said in a whisper. "They still don't feel it safe enough for me to go home, so he has decided to journey here instead." Faramir's face, until now trying to decipher the nearly illegible hand of the Third Marshal, lit up in a smile when he heard the unbridled excitement in Emilyn's voice. He knew she had desperately been in want of visiting Rohan, but agreed with the Third Marshall that it simply wasn't a good time right now.

"Does he know when?" Faramir asked, scanning the sprawling script.

Emilyn shook her head. "No, just sometime in the next couple of months." She grabbed Faramir's hand tightly in delight.

"Lord Denethor will have you locked in the tower of Ecthelion if you remain this excitable for two months," Gandalf said, putting in his own advice and looking at her slyly. Taking the pipe from between his teeth, he picked up another ancient volume. "Why don't you come and look through some of these books. We could use your help."

Moving next to Gandalf, Emilyn picked up a heavy, leather bound book engraved with gold lettering. "What are you looking for?" she asked looking over the stack of books they had already searched.

"Anything to do with the sword of Narsil," Faramir answered, again buried in pages of script.

Emilyn looked to him, catching his eye. "Isildur's sword?"

"Exactly," he answered, turning a page.

Emilyn glanced at the strange marking on the scroll Gandalf studied next to her. "What language is that?" she asked, examining the odd runes that lined the page.

"Elvish," Gandalf answered. "From the second age, one of the oldest scrolls found in all of Gondor. It speaks of the Great War."

"Elvish," Emilyn repeated, running slender, gentle fingers over the top of the scroll. "Éomer always said Elves were only stories parents till their children."

Gandalf chuckled, a great puff of smoke circling his head. "Oh no, Elves are very real indeed."

"Do you know any elves, Gandalf?"

The wizard chuckled. "Many," he responded.

"Is it true that they can see and hear better than humans? They can in the tales I've heard."

Gandalf nodded. "It is indeed, but they are still very much like us as well. The elves may have special gifts that men don't possess, but they still laugh, and cry, and hope for peace."

Faramir shut the heavy book in front of him with a thud. "I can look no longer," he said, frustration evident in his voice. "The riddle will have to remain unanswered for now." Standing, he stretched his back. "Would you like to join me, Emilyn? I'm supposed to meet Boromir at the archery field." Emilyn looked to Gandalf next to her.

"Go," he said. "Enjoy the day. You're too young to spend it with your nose stuck in dusty old books anyway." Emilyn stood and gave the wizard a quick kiss on the cheek before they left. Gandalf shook his head, amused. "And tell Roma thank you for the treats."

Emilyn walked next to Faramir on their way to the practice field, enjoying the cool breeze. "How long has it been since you've seen your brother?" he asked, trying to remember himself. It had seemed as if Emilyn had been a part of the city for much longer than it had been so thoroughly had she taken over a place in their lives.

"Three years," Emilyn answered.

Faramir smiled at her. "I imagine he will be very pleased with the young woman you've become." Emilyn lowered her head, trying to hide the blush that was rising to her cheeks. She could never hide the embarrassment or any other emotion thanks to her fair skin and the bright pink color that would invade her cheeks at the slightest provocation. Faramir saw her look away and smiled to himself.

When they arrived, Boromir was already practicing. Emilyn frowned to herself, but hurried to catch up with Faramir. Since her arrival at Minas Tirith three years ago, she had only seen her "betrothed" a handful of times. He spent much of his time in Osgiliath, or travelling to the borders, and whenever they did see each other, he always managed to make her feel about five years old by calling her "small one", or "child" as his father did.

Seeing them, Boromir waved and laid his bow down. "Are you ready to be soundly beaten, little brother?"

Faramir laughed. "By you? You forget, brother, that my skill with a bow is as yours with a sword. I have no rival."

"Well, we shall have to see about that won't we?" Boromir looked at the young woman in front of him, a strange expression crossing his face. "Good day, Emilyn," he said taken aback.

Smiling tentatively, Emilyn was still intimidated by the strong soldier in front of her. She excused herself and went in search of some practice arrows. Boromir watched her leave, much to the chagrin of his younger brother.

"Boromir," Faramir said with a quiet smirk. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with her."

The eldest turned back to the younger. "I don't," he said, a little less convincing than before. "But she has grown up," he answered, watching Emilyn carefully. "She's lost the childishness about her."

"Yes," Faramir said, taking the bow from his shoulder, avoiding his brother's gaze. "She's beautiful." Boromir raised a brow towards his younger brother, but said nothing.

Focusing on the target in the distance, Faramir pulled the bowstring back tightly. There was a cough from next to him and he lowered the bow with a sigh. "Boromir, please."

Standing back, Boromir grinned at his brother and then to Emilyn who stood to the side watching with interest. She smiled back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Boromir couldn't help but notice how closely their color resembled the color of toffee in the light.

Faramir raised his bow again, but lowered it just as quickly, catching Emilyn off guard as she picked up a small pebble. "And I thought you were on my side," he said feigning disappointment.

Blushing slightly at being caught, Emilyn tilted her head to the side looking him innocently. "I am simply admiring your skill."

Boromir laughed aloud, but stopped as Faramir quickly fired the arrow. It flew though the air and landed with a "thunk" dead center in the target, just centimeters away from his own. Emilyn clapped in delight and Boromir held out a hand, admitting defeat.

"I'm curious brother," Boromir said, taking an arrow from his quiver and examining it. "Have you taught your young shadow to shoot yet?" He had heard, on numerous occasions, how close his brother and the girl had become. He enjoyed the face that it annoyed his father so much.

"A bit," Faramir said with a smile. "She's really quite good. Why, do you feel like being beat again?"

"No," Boromir said slowly. "I propose a matching between teacher and student." Emilyn looked to Faramir knowing that this was going to be embarrassing for her. Faramir caught her eye, asking her opinion.

She smiled back playfully, ready to loose and give Faramir another chance to show how good he was. "You will rue the day you convinced me to pick up a bow."

Both archers took three shots and it was obvious that Emilyn would be soundly beaten. Boromir watched from a few feet away with interest. He admired the girl's form. It was evident that his brother had taken great care in teaching her. She just simply didn't have the strength to hold the bow up for long periods of time. He did have to admit, though, that if put up against one of the younger soldiers, she would be able to hold her own. Faramir struck another bulls-eye and Boromir decided it was time to have some fun.

Stepping up behind Emilyn, he studied her as she looked at the target in front of her. She stiffened a bit when she felt him directly behind her. Taking hold of her hands, he helped her hold up the bow.

"Keep your arm straight ahead of you," his deep voice said quietly. Emilyn relaxed a bit and let his arms guide hers, his closeness unbelievably distracting, the warm breath in her ear too friendly even for the man she was to marry. "You can't let your bow move or tilt at all. It will throw your arrow off course even if your arm is straight." He helped her pull back the string, heat rising in her fingers where their hands touched. "Release on three," his voice rumbled in his chest. "One…steady, two…three." The arrow flew towards the target, hitting dead on and nearly knocking Faramir's out of place

"I did it," Emilyn said, stunned. "I did it!" Beaming, she turned to Boromir, who pulled her in his arms and gave her an embrace.

Holding her tightly, Boromir looked to where his brother stood a few paces away scowling at the ground. The steward's eldest smiled to himself. He cares for her, he thought. He cares for her very much. Boromir let her go and pushed a lock of reddish brown curls that had fallen out of place from her face, enjoying watching his brother suffer at the moment of intimacy.

"You did well," Boromir said, smiling at her. "When you are ready to learn the sword, I will be happy to teach you."

"I would like that," Emilyn said with a smile.

"Till next time, brother," Boromir called to Faramir who attempted a friendly wave, but failed. Proud of his discovery, Boromir left, grabbing his bow and quiver on his way.

Emilyn turned to Faramir who was quietly collecting his arrows. He dropped one and picked it up, tossing it aside, having broken it. "Faramir?" she asked, sensing he was upset about something. "You still won. I could never best you."

"No, you're very good. You just need practice," he said, the playfulness of earlier absent in his voice.

"Is there something wrong?" Emilyn asked, helping him gather the arrows.

Looking up, he smiled at her sadly. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Everything is as it should be." And for that, he thought to himself, I am most desolate.

Putting the arrows back in his quiver, he shouldered his bow, leaving Emilyn confused, feeling she had done something wrong, but not knowing what.


	8. Awkward Dinners and Unwanted Kisses

I am so happy that everyone is enjoying this story. I hope I don't disappoint. Just a warning, I will be taking liberties with certain characters, but I think it will be worth it.

Now, on to the story.

**Chapter Eight: Awkward Dinners and Unwanted Kisses**

Dinner in the Steward's dining hall was extremely quiet that evening. Neither Faramir nor Emilyn had touched their food, but Denethor sat eating comfortably, enjoying the silence for once. Boromir, sitting across the table from Emilyn, watched her closely.

Finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence, Boromir spoke, "I doubt you realized what a marksman we have here, father."

Looking up from his plate, the Steward studied Emilyn sternly. "I thought the only thing she was skilled in was causing trouble." A thin smile crossed his lips in a failed attempt at teasing her. "Where did you learn archery, child?" he asked, the frown returning.

Cringing at the name, Emilyn played nice and smiled slightly at the steward. "Faramir taught me," she said quietly.

"She's very good," Boromir insisted. "She almost managed to best her teacher," he said, trying to get some sort of reaction from his brother who had been conspicuously quiet.

Emilyn glanced at Faramir, still sitting quietly, not participating in the conversation, and picking at his food. His sullen mood hadn't improved from the afternoon's archery lesson, and Emilyn had yet to find out why. "I had help, my lord. I would never in million ages be able to attain Faramir's skill."

"You underestimate yourself, child," Denethor said, taking a sip of wine. "Archery is an easy enough skill to learn. An orc can master it."

"I'd like to see you try it," Emilyn muttered under her breath. Looking up from her plate, she caught Boromir's eye. Her stomach dropped when she realized that he had heard her.

"Yes?" Denethor asked. "Did you have something to add, child?" Emilyn watched Boromir intently, wondering if he would give her away.

"She said Faramir could take on Sauron himself and come out victorious," Boromir answered, smiling at her. Letting out the smallest sigh of relief, she looked back down at her food.

"I doubt that," Denethor said briskly.

There was the scrape of wood on stone as Faramir stood. "If you would all excuse me, I'm going to retire." Denethor watched with disgust as his son left. Fighting back tears, Emilyn sat in the uncomfortable silence again until she could take it no longer.

"Why do you do that to him?" Emilyn asked in a whisper, knowing she was crossing the line, but unable to hold back any longer. "Why do you make him fell useless when he's one of the best soldiers you have." She had watched the interactions between father and son for three years now, and every unkind word uttered by the Steward pained her. Her uncle would never have dreamed of speaking that way to his son or his nieces and nephew. Corrections were always done with respect and love, both of which the Steward knew very little.

A frown crossed the Steward's face, a deep anger underneath boiling to the surface. "You forget your place," he said, shaking with an inner rage. You will not speak of things you know nothing about!"

Emilyn glared at the angry Steward and stood. "I know that you have a son who looks up to you and wishes for nothing more than to please you. I know that you break his heart with every insult you throw at him. You treat him like a dog, and still he loves you."

"Enough!" Denethor roared, standing, nearly knocking his plate off the table.

Throwing her napkin down, Emilyn stormed out of the dining hall, slamming the door behind her.

Denethor calmed himself and sat, taking a sip of wine, his hand shaking. "That girl has been nothing but trouble since she came here," he said, setting his glass back on the table.

Shaking his head, Boromir refilled his own cup. "You brought her here, father." He sat back, sipping his wine and gazing at his father with a look that challenged the senior to make some verbal comeback, but the hall stayed in still silence. Finishing his wine, Boromir left, leaving the Steward with nothing but a table full of empty plates and an unsettled mind.

Emilyn knocked softly on the door to Faramir's chambers. She knew he was there, one of the servants had told her he was. When there was no answer, she laid her forehead on the heavy wood door trying to decide what to do next. She knew he was avoiding her, but stubbornly, she refused to be ignored. She cared too much; there was too much she needed to say. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the latch, and finding it unlocked, walked inside.

His chambers were quite large. While they were not decorated as her room was, there was an air of order and sophistication amid the scarcity of furnishings. The room consisted of a large main area, an adjoining chamber for dressing, an alcove that held a large desk and three bookshelves overflowing with paper, and a door that connected his room to Boromir's. The sun had set an hour before and one lantern was lit on the dresser, leaving the room quite dim.

"Faramir?" Emilyn called. A breeze blew across her face and she realized that the door to his balcony was open. Walking towards the open door, she saw him, bathed in moonlight, sitting on a marble bench, his back towards her, his head between his hands.

Stepping out onto the balcony, her heart heavy with sorrow, Emilyn walked around to the front of where he sat. She stood there silently for a moment. If he knew she was there he didn't show it. She knelt down in front of him, laying her head on his knee.

"I'm so sorry, Faramir," she said softly, the tears beginning to fall. "I don't know what I did to hurt you, but please don't be angry with me. I can't bear it."

Emilyn felt a hand gently touch her hair. She looked up to see Faramir's eyes glistening in the moonlight. Holding her cheeks in his hands, he wiped away her tears. "I could never be angry with you," he said barely above a whisper. "It's not you," he began. "It's..." He looked down into her eyes, dark in the night, her sweet face lit by the stars, her red lips held in a small frown. Closing his eyes, he stopped, unable to control what he was feeling.

Emilyn moved up next to him and laid her head on his shoulder, taking his hand in hers. Their fingers laced automatically and Emilyn was suddenly aware of a stirring in the pit of her stomach, like fear, except more comforting...as if it was meant to be there. There seemed to be an energy between the two of them that she couldn't explain, but never wanted to let it go.

Taking long, deep breaths, she breathed in the scent of the man next to her. Moving her head slightly, she found that he was there, so close. She could feel his breath on her cheek, almost dizzying. She found it difficult to breathe. She never wanted to leave, never wanted to let go of this man she cared so much for, felt such a part of.

"Emilyn," Faramir whispered breathlessly. "We can't." Emilyn's chest heaved as she tried to understand what he was saying. "We can't" he said again moving quickly from the bench leaving Emilyn suddenly alone. Standing at the railing he looked out over the city, seeing nothing in front of him.

Emilyn sat there for a moment the dizziness and need for him replaced with pain and heartache. Standing slowly, she tried to find her balance and went to him. His arm stiffened when she touched him and she quickly moved her hand.

"Can we still be friends?" she asked, trying to find her voice.

Faramir turned and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. "I couldn't live if we were not," he said holding her tight.

Emilyn was far too disturbed and her mind too troubled to pay attention to where she was going as she walked back to her room. Her mind was racing when she slammed into something in front of her. Slightly stunned, she looked up to see Boromir. Her face growing pale, Boromir took hold of her arms, fearing she might faint.

"Are you unwell, little one?" he asked. Straightening herself, Emilyn took a step back, extracting herself from his grasp.

"I'm not your 'little one'," she spat angrily. "Does no one see that I am no longer a child?" She began to storm off, but Boromir stopped her, looking at her with eyes that burned in a different light. "You are no child," he said. "I apologize. Why don't we get some fresh air?" Emilyn glared at the man in front of her, but Boromir held out his hand to her in an invitation. "My lady?" Her face softened reluctantly and Emilyn placed her hand in his.

Taking the young woman's hand, Boromir tucked it under his arm. They walked, side by side, down the hall in silence as the Captain-General led her towards the King's garden, so named even after centuries of having no king in residence. He glanced down at Emilyn now and then only guessing as to where her mind was.

The night air enveloped them as they walked into the fragrant garden. Small torches were lit along the main paths, lighting the way and creating a magical illusion causing the gardens, normally bright and full of beauty, to appear dark and mysterious. Walking down the main path that circled through the rose bushes, Boromir picked one that touched the edge of torchlight and handed it to her. She smiled and held it to her nose, enjoying the sweet fragrance.

"Thank you," she said, finally looking up at him, and then down at the rose in her slender fingers. "Thank you for not telling your father what I really said at dinner."

Boromir shrugged. "I did not see the need. Besides, you stand up to him, and I admire that. It's been far too long since anyone has."

"You seem to handle him fairly well," she said keeping her focus on him a bit longer.

Looking down at her, Boromir gave her a slight smile. "I'm glad I have you fooled." Emilyn laughed at that. "My father is a difficult man. He loves his country and sees himself as its king, but he knows he never will be. He lives daily in fear that the heir of Elendil will return and he will lose everything he has fought for, and every glory, every honor he and his forefathers have brought to Gondor will be forgotten." They stopped at a bench by a pool of water reflecting the bright stars that twinkled above it. Emilyn touched the glassy pool with the toe of her slipper watching the ripples as she considered what he'd said.

"You will be steward one day. Do you have the same fears?" Emilyn asked curiously.

Boromir looked up towards the stars as if trying to sort out his feelings on the subject. He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Yes," he admitted. "I've fought in battle for Gondor, killed for her, bled for her, would die for her, if it came to it. I've led men who have given their life to protect her borders." His voice grew bitter. "Why shouldn't my family have the glory and honor due it? We have been without a king for years, and have been better off for it."

"Being king is a difficult task; I wouldn't envy the man who found himself in that position. I can't tell you how many nights I remember listening to my uncle pace the halls into the early hours of the morning."

"Do you think the role of steward is any easier?" he asked roughly, turning towards her, a familiar fire in his gray eyes. "It is the position of king in all ways but that of title."

"I realize that, but perhaps if the heir returns you will be able to step back and enjoy the land you've worked so hard for." Emilyn noticed a slight rise in her voice as anger began to boil. What was it in this man that made her blood run with resentment?

Boromir stood with a laugh. "There is no heir. Never has there been, and never will there be. The line of Isildur is dead." He began to walk back down the path winding its way out of the garden, their conversation finished.

"Boromir," Emilyn called running after him, her skirts flowing behind. Catching up to him, she took hold of his arm. "Boromir, stop," she said, aggravated that he would walk away from her. "I was trying to help. I didn't mean to..." but she couldn't finish.

Grabbing her around the waist, Boromir pulled her close to him and brought her lips to his, kissing her forcefully. Emilyn struggled for a moment and then gave in, pouring out all of her need and desire, taking from him everything she had desperately wanted from Faramir.

When they finally parted, their lips remained close, their warm breath mingling together as their hearts pounded. "You will be a steward's wife one day," Boromir said huskily. "You will be _my_ wife someday." He ran a hand over her cheek. It took every fiber of self-control he had not to take her to his bed at that moment.

Taking a step backwards, Emilyn stepped out of the trance, realizing what she had done. Bringing her fingers to her lips she turned and ran all the way back to her room.

Boromir cursed as he watched her run away. He hadn't meant for it to happen. He hadn't meant to find her so irresistible. Strolling back to the bench they had shared, he picked up the flower she'd forgotten when she ran after him. He stared into the dark pool wondering what would become of this.


	9. Brothers and Swordplay

Ah…brothers.

Chapter Nine: Brothers and Swordplay

Boromir had finished dressing just as one of the servants brought in his breakfast tray. Thanking him with a nod, Boromir fastened his belt. He took a piece of bread from the tray when there was a knock on the door that connected Faramir's room with his. Frowning, Boromir and threw the bread down.

Opening the door, he found Faramir there holding out a piece of paper to him, his mood not much better than that of his older brother. "We are wanted in Osgiliath today. Mablung has rallied some new recruits that he's planning on putting through exercises."

Taking the note with an annoyed sigh, Boromir read it himself. He handed it back and ate a piece of cheese from his tray without saying a word to Faramir leaning against the doorframe watching his older brother with a pensive stare. Boromir shot him a look of warning. "I am in no mood to answer riddles today, brother, so if you have something to say to me, you best do it."

"Nothing to say, brother," Faramir answered, his voice full of sarcasm.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Boromir asked walking towards his brother, trying to do his best job at intimidating him.

Faramir rolled his eyes, all too aware of his older brother's tricks. "Let us go," he said pulling the door closed behind him. He followed the elder to the hall, but stopped when he saw a rose lying on Boromir's dresser. For some unknown reason a knot formed in his stomach. Holding it up in his hand, Faramir asked. "Did you pick this for yourself, brother?"

Boromir turned, and seeing the flower his brother held, grabbed it from his hand. "No," he muttered, setting the rose back where it had been a little too carefully for Faramir's liking.

They reached Osgiliath in record time, neither one allowing the other to arrive first. "My lords, I am glad of your swift arrival," Mablung said motioning to two young boys to take their horses. With one glance he could tell something was amiss between the two and gave and inquiring look to the young captain. Faramir's frown, warned the older soldier not to pry.

The brothers took their places in front of the new recruits, many who were from the borderlands and were getting their first look at Gondor's Captain-General and his brother, Captain of the Rangers. Both men's battle skills were famed far beyond the borders of Gondor.

"My brothers," Boromir began, puffing himself up, knowing he was a legend to these young men. "Welcome to the service of Gondor. For centuries, our ancestors have defended her against all manner of foes and now you been chosen for that worthy task. You will learn the spear, the sword and the longbow. Some of you will stay to defend the White City itself and some will go into the heart of Gondor serving with the rangers who guard our borders. Those of you at the height of your class will train with the cavalry, or those elite among you will go to serve as Guards of the Fountain. Some of you may fall, but each and every one of you will make up the glory that is Gondor!" The men erupted in cheers and applause.

Faramir didn't hear much of what his brother said, purposefully trying to ignore his arrogance. He looked over the faces of the men in front of him, many too young, and wondered how much courage they would be able to summon when the time came.

The young recruits gathered their bows and swords. Half of the men went to the archery range, while the other half went to practice swordplay with older, well-trained soldiers. As the men were going their separate ways, there was a noisy excitement in the air.

Seeing an opportunity, Mablung walked over to Faramir. "Is everything well, my lord?" he asked quietly, making it appear he spoke of business.

Faramir didn't answer his direct question. "Do they have courage, Mablung?" he asked, smiling at a few men who passed by, looking at the steward's youngest son with awe.

"I believe so, my lord. Their mettle on the battlefield has not yet been put to trial." Mablung said, although not sounding very confident.

"We must make certain they do," Faramir answered, his thoughts inward.

"My lord," Mablung ventured, hating to disturb his captain. "Would you mind assisting at the archery range? I'm sure the men could learn much from you."

Putting his thoughts away, Faramir smiled and clapped the soldier on the back. "Of course, my friend."

After Farmair had watched the recruits shoot some practice volleys, he made his way to where the other men were sparring. The mood here was more subdued than at the range as young men, praised at home for their fighting skills, realized all too quickly how soon they would be dead if face to face with the enemy.

"Very good, now keep your feet moving," Boromir's voice came from the middle of a small group of men. Making his way towards them, Faramir stood back and watched as his brother worked with a boy not much older than Emilyn. At the thought of her, uneasiness shot through his chest. She came to his mind too quickly, as if she were a part of him.

"Keep your arm up, don't flinch when I move towards you," Boromir said advancing on the young man. Panicking under the blows of the Captain-General's sword, the boy fell backwards. Boromir sheathed his sword and helped the boy up.

Faramir shook his head, knowing that his brother was simply showing off for the recruits. "You are frightening them, Boromir. You'll have half of them running home before sundown."

Turning towards his brother, Boromir swiped his hair out of his face. "You doubt them, brother?"

Faramir shook his head, "No, I just think perhaps you should be a little easier on them."

"Why?" Boromir asked, stepping forward. "Do you need a lesson?"

Faramir chuckled for the benefit of those watching, but knew that it wasn't meant to be a joke. "Do you think you have the skill to teach me?"

Unsheathing his sword, Boromir stood back, daring his younger brother to approach, a glint of anger in his eye. Taking out his own sword, Faramir walked forward. "Trust me, little brother," Boromir said slicing the air with his sword. "You don't want to do this."

"Yes," Faramir said, bowing to him grandly. "I very much think I do."

The two swords clashed together, both men showing their abilities and skill. "Give it up, Boromir," Faramir said through clinched teeth as he held his own. "I beat you yesterday, and I will beat you today."

Grunting, Boromir advanced, taking control of the fight. "You tease yourself," he taunted, an edge to his voice. "I am the better man, you cannot possibly win."

Seething, breathing heavily through his nose, Faramir gave one last push forward. His brother, expecting this, surprised him, pinning his sword to the ground and kicking it from his hand. There was a silence from everyone present as they watched the two brothers glaring at each other and trying to catch their breath.

"You see," Boromir said throwing his sword to the ground, "you can't beat me."

Faramir closed his eyes, cursing himself. Always was he second...second rate, second son...second in line for a throne he didn't want. Save in the thoughts of the woman they were fighting over, and in those he should have been second too, if at all.

Mablung, only now coming through the crowd with news, saw that the situation was private and not in need of being aired in front of everyone.

Relieved to put an end to the squabbling, he spoke loudly, attracting the brother's attention. "My lords, there are riders, my lords, from Rohan."

Instantly gathering himself and his thoughts, Faramir hurried to his horse waiting behind Mablung who was holding the reins. Boromir watched his brother, confused by his actions. After mounting Faramir turned his horse around. "It's her brother," he said, as if it should be obvious.

Growing pale, Boromir rushed to his own animal, jumping in the saddle. The argument would have to wait for another time, or there would be an older brother's wrath to pay.


	10. Brothers, Lovers, and Foes

I seriously didn't know whether or not to include this first section, but left it in anyway. It's cheesy, and dumb, but cute. So…if you don't like it…just ignore that it's there.

Other than that, I truly hope you enjoy.

**Chapter Five: Brothers, Lovers, and Foes**

"Emilyn, it's nearly noon, you need to get out of bed." Opening the shutters and allowing sunlight to pour into the room, Roma called loudly to her mistress.

Grabbing the pillow and hid her eyes from the sun, Emilyn's voice came from under the pillow. "Leave me alone."

"And what will I tell the steward or his sons when they come asking for you?" The maid planted her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

"Tell them I'm sick, and I cannot be disturbed."

Roma looked at the stubborn young woman lying on the bed, blankets covering her, auburn curls peeking out from under her pillow and sighed. "So you plan to stay in bed all day?"

Lifting her head from under the pillow, her blue eyes red and swollen from crying and lack of sleep, Emilyn answered. "Yes," she said in no uncertain terms, her voice miserable. After leaving Boromir the night before, she had run to her room and thrown herself onto the bed.

Why had she let him kiss her? Why had she been so affected by Boromir, the man she was supposed to marry, but didn't care for in the slightest? It was the other son she should have been engaged to.

She had sulked to her bureau and managed to change to her nightclothes, leaving her gown in a heap on the floor. Which was exactly where Roma had found it that morning- along with her mistress, eyes red and bleary from too little sleep and too much sadness.

Not knowing what more to do with her mistress, Roma sighed and went to answer the knocking at the door. "I'm not here!" Emilyn's muffled voice yelled at her from under the pillow.

Roma opened the door, expecting to find Captain Faramir inquiring as to where Emilyn was, but was greeted instead by Gandalf standing in the doorway, a look of concern on his face, his troubled frown hidden in his gray beard.

"Is she here?" he asked quietly. Nodding, Roma allowed him to enter. Taking one look at Emilyn holding the pillow tightly over her head, trying to disappear, the wizard gave Roma a questioning look. The servant simply shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head.

"She's been like this all morning," she whispered. Nodding, Gandalf dismissed her.

Gandalf thought for a moment and then took a couple of steps towards her bed. "I grew worried," he began, "when you didn't greet me at the gate. One of my favorite things about returning to Minas Tirith is seeing your smiling face welcoming me. So, imagine my surprise when you weren't at the gates, or the stables, or even the library." Taking a seat on the bed next to her, Gandalf continued. "I wondered if you had gone with the men to Osgiliath, but no one had seen you all morning. Emilyn," he said, his voice fatherly, seeking the truth. "Is there something you should tell me?"

Emilyn shook her head under the pillow, which was followed by a muffled 'no'.

Unable to keep himself from smiling at her childishness, he continued to question her. "Is it Lord Denethor? Did you two have a disagreement?"

"He's a pig, but no, we didn't."

Gandalf laughed out loud, thankful that she hadn't lost her sense of humor. "Then what on earth has you lying in bed at this time of day?"

Finally sitting up, Emilyn brushed some hair from her face. Gandalf's eyes saddened then he saw how tired and upset she was. "Child, what has you in such a state?"

Emilyn didn't even know where to begin, or if she wanted to. "It's nothing," she said, her voice low and scratchy from crying. "I'm just..." she couldn't finish. How could she even begin to explain?

Gandalf watched her as she processed these thoughts and laid one of his hands on top of hers. "This is a confusing time for all of us," he said sparing her from having to speak. "Everything will work out though...trust me," he said giving her a wink and hoping that he spoke the truth. "In the meantime," he said reaching into the folds of his robe and extracting a small package. "I have a present for you."

Tilting her head to the side, a bit of the normal sparkle returned to her eyes. "A present? Where have you been?"

"Visiting some old friends." Gandalf handed her a small box wrapped in ribbon that glistened when the light touched, the silvery strands dancing with the light. "Some old friends in Rivendell."

Emilyn nearly jumped from the bed. "Rivendell? You've been with the elves? Why didn't you take me with you?" Gandalf smiled at the sudden change in her demeanor.

"From the state I found you in it appears that I should have. Perhaps one day. Open it," he urged. Emilyn undid the delicate paper revealing a finely carved wooden box. Running a finger along the smooth wood, her fingertip traced the leaf engraved on the lid along with the words,  
'Oio naa etealla a lasse'.

"That is the work of Calide, an Elvish craftsman who has been on middle- earth for almost three thousand years," Gandalf informed her. "The engraving says, 'Ever is thy sight a joy.'"

Slowly opening the box, Emilyn gasped when she saw what was inside. Nestled in the box was a necklace made completely of shimmering white silver. Intertwined between the silver leaves and flower buds were small diamonds, looking like snowflakes resting on the early spring down of grass shoots. "Oh, Gandalf, it's beautiful."

"I thought you would like it," he said, a smile in his eyes. "Now, you best get dressed. There was a group of riders not too far behind me, from Rohan I believe. It wouldn't do to be greeting your brother and your uncle in your nightgown, would it?"

"From Rohan- they're here? Already?" Emilyn exclaimed.

"Soon will be, and I doubt this is how they would like to find the lady Emilyn." Gandalf stood to leave. Walking to the door, he turned back to her. "My dear, our hearts are such silly things. Sometimes it's best to take a step back and take a second look at what we first may have not have appreciated at first."

Sighing, Emilyn gave the wizard a feeble grin. She should have known she couldn't hide anything from him.

Faramir rode quickly across the Pelennor, Boromir close behind as they hurried to catch up with the company from Rohan.

"My lords," Faramir called. Entering the Great Gates after them and dismounting, he hurried across the courtyard to meet the guests. "Welcome to Minas Tirith." Dismounting, Éomer made a quick bow, giving a cross look to the young captain and Boromir who had joined him.

"My lord, Éomer," Faramir said with a quick bow. "Let me introduce to you my brother, Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor." Éomer nodded, sizing up the man.

Boromir looked over the soldier in front of him. The Third Marshall of the Mark stood a few inches taller and Boromir found his stern demeanor almost comical- it didn't suit the man in the slightest. He could definitely see the family resemblance between Emilyn and her older brother, the same fair skin, the same eyes; although hers were a deeper brown, and while Emilyn's hair was auburn that shone with red, there was no doubt that this man had the traditional blond locks that the people of the Riddermark were famed for.

"Lord Faramir," came an older voice walking towards them. Boromir turned to see his brother shaking hands with an older gentleman. He had the same color of hair as Éomer and carried himself great confidence; this must be King Théoden, Boromir realized.

"Boromir," his brother called, motioning him to join them. "This is Théoden, King of Rohan." Boromir bowed.

"It is good to finally meet you, lord Boromir. I have heard much of your skills in battle."

"It is an honor to meet you, Théoden King, and a great credit that my reputation precedes me. Emilyn speaks often, and highly, of you."

Smiling at Boromir's words, Theoden turned back to Faramir as the younger son spoke.

"We did not expect you so soon," Faramir said leading the King and Éomer into the city while the horses were being seen to.

"Our letter was delayed and it probably would have been easier to deliver it ourselves," Éomer said, looking over the city as he walked with an air of dislike.

"How long do you plan on staying?" Faramir asked, nodding to a couple of guards standing at the city's second gate.

"Unfortunately, only today. We have urgent business in the Riddermark and must return at the earliest convenience." Théoden replied.

"Emilyn will be glad to see you nonetheless," Boromir said joining them. Faramir bristled at the thought of his brother having a conversation with her. She had come to him excited about the news of her brother coming, not Boromir.

"How is my niece?" Théoden asked, concern in his voice. The brothers couldn't help but look at each other, wondering who was going to answer. Boromir took the initiative.

"She has truly blossomed in the city, and is well loved by everyone," he said eyeing his brother for a reaction.

"I am glad to hear of it," Théoden said relieved. "I have been concerned about her. She can be too stubborn for her own good sometimes. A trait, I'm afraid, she learned from me." Boromir and Faramir couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes," Faramir answered, "we've noticed that."

As they walked through the city Boromir told them all about the city's garrison as well as what defenses they had. Looking over a wall on the fourth tier, a loud voice caught their attention.

"Éomer!" Emilyn cried, running down the white cobbled street leaving Gandalf behind her. Racing forward, Éomer caught her in his arms and swung her around, squeezing her tightly.

"I don't think this is my sister, although she is quite beautiful," he said with a smile. Emilyn glared at him, and he laughed. "Look at you," he said setting her down and running a hand over her hair. "You're stunning." He shook his head, trying to keep the tears from his eyes. "You are all grown up now. Hardly the little girl that left Rohan." Emilyn hugged him again as the other party caught up to them.

"Théoden," Gandalf said breaking the moment between the two siblings. "It is good to see you."

Emilyn turned to where Gandalf spoke. "Uncle?" she said, tears filling her eyes as she walked towards him.

"My child," Théoden said, cupping her cheeks in his hands before pulling her close. "Oh, how I have missed you." He studied her face for a moment. "Are you happy? Are they taking good care of you?"

Emilyn smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek. "Yes," she responded. She hugged her uncle again and saw Faramir standing behind him. One look from his loving eyes gave her the comfort she had needed. She smiled to him as he smiled back, her heart too full to speak.

Dinner had been a happy affair for once as Emilyn sat, completely content, between her uncle and her brother, chatting with them about the White City and learning about what had been happening in Edoras. Éowyn, it seemed was becoming quite the swordswoman and seemed to be taking on a heavy role in the city.

After dinner they gathered in a less formal room off of the dining room, the servants filling their glasses with a rich, spiced wine and Denethor, who had been surprisingly pleasant all evening stood to make a toast. "My friends," he said standing. "To old alliances and new ones rekindled." Raising their glasses everyone drank before settling into conversation.

"Has there been any more trouble in the Riddermark, Théoden?" Gandalf asked lighting his pipe and sitting back in his chair pensively.

Théoden's brow crossed. "There has been alarming numbers of orc activity to the east, particularly. I fear that they are preparing for something, but their numbers are too random, too far spread apart to be of great concern...yet."

Taking a sip of his wine, Éomer spoke, his tone serious. "We tracked a band to the west of us on our way here, but we never saw them."

The room returned to its quiet buzz, politics and the latest word from other regions becoming the topic of choice. Entering quietly, Faramir stood by the hearth, hoping to remain unnoticed.

Seeing him, Emilyn excused herself, approaching cautiously, not knowing what she should say. She stopped in front of him and felt him watching her in that gentle way he did. "Emilyn," he said in a whisper, searching for words.

Giving him a quiet smile, she stepped back as Denethor and Boromir approached, not giving her a chance to speak the words she wanted to. The steward caught her eye and, seeming to know that she was up to something, frowned, causing Emilyn to avert her eyes as a chill ran through her.

Denethor was an intelligent man, and at times Emilyn felt that he knew more than he said. His eyes always seemed to find her faults and bring them to light, and he read men like others read books, always finding ill intentions and imperfections. She felt that now as he watched her, boring holes in her soul, and she took another step away from Faramir.

Sensing the tension, Boromir took swift action to protect his brother. "Would you walk with me, Emilyn?" Giving him a relieved smile, Emilyn took his arm. As Boromir led her out to the balcony, she risked a glimpse back at Faramir who was watching her leave, a look of pain across his face.

There was another pair of eyes watching the two as well. Éomer half- listened to the conversation between his uncle and Gandalf when he saw his sister holding onto the Captain-General's arm. There was something about the familiarity between them, the way he led her onto the balcony, guiding her by the waist, the way he smiled down at her that he didn't trust. Éomer didn't like the man; he was too much a warrior, too much a soldier at heart, and Éomer worried that he would only bring heartache to his sister. Finishing the rest of his wine in a single gulp, he kept his eyes on the door, watching warily lest anything should happen.

Away from prying eyes the two relaxed, although there was a slight uncomfortable feeling between them after what had happened the night before. Finding himself actually nervous in front of a woman, Boromir searched for something to say. He watched Emilyn as she leaned over the balcony and closed her eyes seeming to drink in the cool night air. He ran a hand through his hair. He didn't want to be doing this. He refused to bow to his father's will anymore, he had vowed not to, but when he looked at her, all of his reserve melted. All he could see was her slender figure, the curls that fell down her back, the pale skin glowing in the moonlight. And it called to him-a call so siren and seductive he didn't want to ignore it anymore.

Not knowing how she would react after running away from him, he summoned up his courage, reaching out and touching a curl that fell over her shoulder. "You look beautiful tonight, Emilyn."

Turning, she looked up to him, her eyes a mixture of anxiety and attraction, ever the damsel in distress. Boromir touched her arm. She could feel the heat from him and the memory of his kiss still burned on her lips. He was to be her husband after all, but it wasn't that easy to accept the fact and she knew it. He was extremely handsome, tall, powerful, and brave, but he was not Faramir, and that was where the trouble lay. His eyes could be kind, but they didn't hold the warmth of Faramir's. Boromir's touch moved her, but it didn't hold the comfort and peace that she found when Faramir held her hand, or accidentally brushed against her.

"Emilyn," Boromir said bringing her back to the present. "For a long time I was opposed to our marriage, I didn't want my father to get his way, lording his power over me, but now I'm beginning to think differently." He touched her cheek softly, the heat lingering afterwards. "I know I have never paid you much attention, and I apologize for that." His eyes searched hers for some indication of how she felt. "I want you to give me the chance to start over." He kissed her lips gently. "I promise I will make you happy," he said slowly, emphasizing each word. "I promise that, if in time, you don't love me, if there is someone else, I won't stand in your way. I'll make certain my father doesn't either." Emilyn was shocked at what she was hearing. Running his hand from her cheek to her neck sent chills up her spine. "Will you let me try, at least, to prove that I'm worthy of your affection?"

Without knowing what to say, Emilyn nodded, and Boromir pulled her close, kissing her. Emilyn melted into his strong arms, and when they parted he smiled down at her. Somewhat at a loss for words, he looked down at her necklace, glimmering in the moon light.

"I've never seen you wear this before," he said, his voice low, running a finger over the tiny gems embedded amidst the silver. "It looks like someone roped the stars and set them about your neck; it's beautiful."

Emilyn looked down to the hand at her neck. "Gandalf gave it to me. It was a gift from the elves," she answered, somehow managing to find the words to speak. His finger touched her skin, warm against the cold porcelain sheen of her neck, and she shivered at his touch.

"You're not going to run away this time are you?" Boromir asked, his voice low and desirable.

Emilyn couldn't help but laugh, and shook her head. "I'll try not to." There was a noise behind them and the two turned to see Éomer standing at the entrance to the balcony looking very ferocious. Boromir withdrew his hand and stepped back-Éomer looked fit to kill.

"Éomer," Emilyn said hurrying to her brother's side, trying to pacify the lion. "I've been waiting for you to finish talking. I wanted to show you the gardens." She took hold of his hand, but he wouldn't be moved.

"Our uncle is looking for you," Éomer said, dismissing her, his voice cold and flat. Sensing the displeasure in his voice at what he had just witnessed, Emilyn turned back to Boromir, mouthed the words 'I'm sorry' and left, leaving him to deal with the angry warrior alone.

Éomer took a step towards Boromir, his hand noticeably resting on the pommel of his sword. "I don't trust you," he said.

The gruff young man did not threaten Boromir in the least. "What I do is completely within my rights as her betrothed. I assure you, I have nothing but the best of intentions."

Éomer sneered at him. "You'd better, or nothing will stop the consequences if you hurt her."

Emilyn, thankful to see Denethor chatting with Théoden, hurried over to Faramir who was standing by the fire with Gandalf. "Faramir," she said, her voice low so only he and Gandalf could hear. "Éomer has Boromir cornered on the balcony. And my brother is not pleased with him."

An amused smile crossed Faramir's face as he looked to Gandalf. "That could be interesting," he said.

"Oh, don't subject the poor man to the wrath of an older brother," Gandalf said, a twinkle in his eye. "The last thing we want is a war to start between Gondor and Rohan because of two hotheaded noblemen."

"You are right, Mithrandir...as usual," Faramir said. "That would be too cruel. Captain General though he may be, I doubt Boromir's strength when it comes to older brothers." Faramir squeezed Emilyn's arm softly, savoring the moment. "I will rescue him."

Laughing, Emilyn watched Faramir make his way to the balcony, ever the knight in shining armor. As she did so, she realized that Denethor had been watching them over Théoden's shoulder, a sense of fury gathering force in his cold eyes. A sense of foreboding passed over her as if something were brewing inside the man that could not be stopped for all the world.


	11. The Stonewain Valley

**Chapter Eleven: The Stonewain Valley**

Early the next morning, the stables of Minas Tirith were a busy place. Stable boys were quickly readying the horses for the party from Rohan who were anxious to get on their way. Pulling Lindel up beside Faramir's horse, Emilyn began to brush down her sleek brown coat before saddling her.

"May I ask where you think you are going?" Faramir asked, leaving his animal and coming to Lindel, patting her muzzle. Setting her brush down, Emilyn lifted her saddle onto Lindel's back.

"I'm going with you," she said with a grunt, situating the saddle and tightening the straps.

"Emilyn, do you really think…" Emilyn shot him an exasperated look and Faramir smiled when he saw her push a lock of her hair from her face, something she always did when nervous, or trying to appear more impressive, whether there was a lock of hair there or not.

"If you get to ride to the borders to escort my brother and my uncle, then I am going as well," she said without giving him a chance to argue.

"Does my father know about this?" Faramir asked, trying a different approach. With her saddle in place, Emilyn straightened herself up, her dark blue riding dress making her look very petite amongst the large horses from the plains of Rohan.

"Boromir gave me permission," she said, holding a blue ribbon between her teeth and pulling her hair out of her face, readying herself for the ride.

"Boromir is not father." Faramir frowned at Emilyn, but she was unswayed.

"It's at times like this, Faramir, that you have to learn to nod and agree with whatever she says," Éomer said, coming up behind them. "It's no use arguing with her. She's been that way since she was a child." Emilyn punched her older brother on the arm who pretended to be sorely injured.

"I'm at least glad to know there is one man who can handle her," Faramir said, going back to his own horse.

Éomer chuckled. "Trust me, I don't know if such a man exists, for it is surely not I."

"You boys stop giving my niece such a hard time," Théoden said, putting on his gloves and walking into the stables. Putting his arm around Emilyn, he gave her a fatherly squeeze. "I would love for her to accompany us."

"Then it is settled," Emilyn said with finality, climbing into Lindel's saddle, giving Faramir a smirk to which he gave back a scowl with an air of comic haughtiness.

Boromir strode down the hall of the Palace and ran a hand nervously through his hair, using his physical prowess and powerful strides to keep at bay anyone who might wish to speak with him. Turning a corner, he heard his father's voice carrying down the stone hallway, giving orders to a servant. The steward's heir quickly turned, hoping to avoid his father at all costs, but failed.

"Ah, Boromir," Denethor called after him. Sighing, Boromir turned slowly back to him. "I've wanted to speak with you," the Steward added, dismissing his servant and walking towards his oldest son wearing what could be considered a smile on his face.

"I would love to speak with you, father, but I am needed in Osgiliath this morning," Boromir said, hoping this would stay any further conversation.

"Then I will walk with you," the Steward said obligingly. Gritting his teeth, Boromir resigned himself to the fact that he would have to endure him.

"I see that you and our little Emilyn are getting on well," Denethor said, looking up to his son with a sly grin.

"Our little Emilyn?" Boromir asked. "Since when have you decided to speak so kindly of her?"

Denethor played off the comment with a laugh. "Since I've seen you so taken by her. The girl is reckless, but perhaps there is still hope."

"Perhaps? Father, please, I have no time for this," Boroimr insisted, irritated at his father's line of questioning.

Denethor pulled him to the side of the hall. "The shadow around Mordor is growing. I can feel it. Our enemy will be trying to strengthen his army. Now is the time to act."

Boromir stopped his father before he could say more. "No, father, not yet. She is not ready, and I am not ready. I don't want to rush her into this."

"Rush her into this?" Denethor said angrily. "What does she think I brought her here for? She is here to do as her uncle and I say- to build this alliance. I will tell her so myself, if she has a problem understanding that." Denethor began to walk away, presumably headed to Emilyn's room to tell her exactly how he felt about the situation.

"It is in vain to search her rooms. She is not here, father," Boromir called, telling him plainly.

Turning slowly, Denethor tried to control his anger. "She is not here? Then pray tell, son, where would she be?"

"She rode with Faramir to see the Rohan party to our borders."

Denethor's frown deepened as he took in the information. "You let her ride with Faramir?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Boromir admitted, not completely certain himself that it had been the best of decisions.

"Are you blind?" Denethor asked, his voice in a furious whisper. "I do not trust them. They pay far too much attention to each other, always laughing together, spending time in their studies. They will ruin your marriage when it comes." As he thought over the situation, he began speaking more to himself than his son. "It's that wizard," Denethor said, as if he could taste the threat against him. "He and Faramir have joined forces to destroy me. He sets my children against me."

"Father, this is nonsense," Boromir said, shaking his head, almost embarrassed by his father's paranoia.

"You may think it nonsense now, but mark my words. This will be trouble." Turning, Denethor stormed away, leaving Boromir just as unsettled and uneasy as before.

Sighing, Boromir continued on his way, trying to sort through his thoughts. When Emilyn had agreed if she could join him in escorting her uncle and brother to the borders, he had readily agreed. Not only would she get to see her loved ones off, but they would also have some time to themselves on the ride back to Minas Tirith. Unfortunately, things hadn't worked out as planned.

Before dawn, he had received an urgent message that he was needed in Osgiliath. The rangers wanted to meet with and the other commanders about what had been happening at the Ithilien borders. As Captain-General, he had to see to the matter personally, he woke Faramir and aksed if he would mind escorting Théoden and his men. But Boromir knew that bothering him most was the fact that Faramir would be the one spending precious time with Emilyn.

Boromir did not enjoy feeling like this. He was used to seeing what he wanted and taking it, but he couldn't do that this time, and it was driving him mad. If he wanted Emilyn to love him, not just be his for the taking, he would have to do so on her terms, not those of a soldier. He also knew he had to tread carefully around his brother. While he knew Faramir would stand by and see them wed without saying a word about how he truly felt, the last thing Boromir wanted to do was hurt him- to destroy the friendship and trust they shared. That was why he let them go. That was why, as difficult as it was right now, he had to be patient.

The party reached the Stonewain valley by mid-morning and then headed north towards the Grey wood where they were to part ways. Dismounting, the men exchanged handshakes, while Emilyn stood back, thankful she'd had this short amount of time with them, but not wanting to see them go. Taking a deep breath as her brother approached her; she tried not to let the emotion overwhelm her.

Without a word he pulled her close, smelling as he always did of leather and horses, his arms stronger than any she knew. Memories of earlier times flooded back, and she held on tighter, willing him to stay.

"I want you to watch yourself," he whispered, his voice choked with despair. "I don't trust Denethor. There is something about him that isn't right." He let go of her and held her face tightly in his hands. "Do you understand me?"

Emilyn nodded, tears running down her cheeks, unable to keep them at bay.

"You have two very strong protectors looking after you, trust them. Boromir will do whatever is needed to keep you safe, I see that in him. Faramir loves you almost as much as I…" he couldn't finish, too overcome. Pulling her close again he held her for minutes, not caring that the others were now waiting on him.

Finally breaking their connection, he wiped away her tears, and then his own with the back of his hand. "I will see you soon, I promise." Giving her a hard kiss on the cheek he turned abruptly and went to his horse, leading the riders forward.

Emilyn watched as the horses faded into the distance. Their time together had been far too short, a heavy sadness filling her as she watched them leave.

"You'll see them soon," Faramir said next to her, reining his own horse in and watching them go.

"I know," Emilyn sighed, thinking silently for a moment. The wind picked up and she looked to Faramir with a playful smile. "Come on," she said. "Lindel's dying to best your horse." Kicking up her hells, she raced forward.

"Emilyn!" Faramir yelled. "That's not fair!" Turning his mount, he rushed after her.

Emilyn raced to the west up the Stonewain Valley that ran between the forest of the Druadan and the mountains, urging Lindel forward, glancing behind her every few minutes to see Faramir quickly catching up behind her. She pushed Lindel a bit harder as she ran along the forest's edge.

Almost as if in a dream, she saw the dark figures to her right out of the corner of her eye coming from behind some trees…orcs. She knew in an instant what they were. One was readying a short bow on its back. Emilyn knew what was coming, but could do nothing to stop it. She tried to confuse their aim by tugging on Lindel's reigns and turning her around running in the other direction.

"Faramir!" she screamed as he came towards her, but he had already spotted the bad of five orcs and was riding straight for them.

"Keep riding!" Faramir yelled.

Digging her heels into Lindel's side, Emilyn refused to leave him. She turned Lindel again, but the horse lurched forward as two arrows pierced her rump and the animal kicked her back legs, throwing Emilyn from the saddle. She fell onto the hard ground with a thud and tumbled down a small rise leading into the forest before slamming against the trunk of a six hundred year old oak.

Seeing the man on horseback heading straight for them, the orcs managed to hurriedly shoot a couple arrows that went astray, only one hitting its mark in the flank of Faramir's horse. Jumping from his saddle, Faramir had his bow at the ready in an instant. His arrows took down three of the enemy. The two remaining, seeing the man off his horse, and wanting a fight, decided to give him just that. One rushed towards him with a dagger while the other, who was not nearly as assured of himself, carried what looked like a sword that had been broken at the tip.

Faramir took care of him with one swipe of his blade, slicing through his ragged attempt at leather armor. The other thrust his dagger at Faramir's chest, but the man managed to move of the way in time. As he turned, Faramir thrust his sword in the orc's belly. Pushing his victim to the ground, he pulled his sword free, turning to see his horse lying on its side. The animal's breathing labored by the poison that laced the orc's arrow and was quickly working its way through the animal's veins.

"Steady girl, it will be over soon." Patting the horse's neck, he hurried to find Emilyn. "Emilyn!" he yelled. "Emilyn!" His voice became desperate when he saw Lindel lying in the dirt. He searched the surrounding areas of the trees and bushes nearby the horse's body, but there was no sign of her.

Emilyn tried to move, but it was far too painful at the moment. She tried to assess exactly what hurt, but her head was pounding too hard to concentrate. She took a deep breath, but found it impossible as a sharp pain shot down her side. She heard Faramir's voice calling for her, but couldn't answer. He was coming closer and Emilyn tried once more to sit up, but between the pain and dizziness, the world around her swirled into shadow, and everything faded into darkness.

"Emilyn, Emilyn, can you hear me?" the words were distant and caught in a strange fog as Emilyn slowly found her way to consciousness again. Opening her eyes, she saw Faramir kneeling over her, his brow furrowed, his eyes deeply concerned. There was a large scratch on his cheek.

"You're hurt," Emilyn said weekly, but Faramir ignored it, busy concentrating on how extensive her injuries were.

"Are you in pain?" he asked. Emilyn tried to sit up, but he forced her back down carefully, wincing as he did so.

"My head's not so bad anymore, but there's a sharp pain in my side and my arm is numb." Faramir gently felt of her arm. If she hadn't hurt so badly, Emilyn would have laughed at how serious his face was. She was about to say as much when he pressed on her side. Emilyn breathed in sharply, holding her breath until the pain subsided.

Helping her slowly sit up, Faramir leaned her back against the tree she had collided with. Emilyn took a deep breath as the blood rushed from her head, holding onto Faramir until she wsa steady.

She gave him a feeble smile. "Some shield maiden I am," she teased. Faramir handed her his canteen of water and sat down beside her. "Are they gone?" she asked, taking a drink.

Faramir nodded. "I think we caught them off guard. They looked to be scouts. I don't think there will be anymore unless they have friends coming to look for them, which I unlikely. Brotherhood is not something you find amongst orcs."

"And the horses?" Emilyn asked, holding onto her sore arm.

"Dead," Faramir answered gently, knowing how dearly she had always treasured Lindel. "The orc's arrows were poisoned; they didn't suffer for long." He took a drink for himself and Emilyn fought back the lump in her throat as she thought of Lindel being taken down by the orc arrows. "My main concern is you," he said, turning towards her. "I have no doubt that you broke a couple of ribs, and your arm is probably broken as well. We have to get you to a healer. Do you think you can walk?" Emilyn nodded and Faramir helped her stand, handling her like a delicate flower, afraid he might cause her pain at the slightest of touches.

"Faramir," she said standing in front of him, her hair red in the sun with bits of grass imbedded in the curls. "I'm so sorry, if I had known…" Faramir stopped her, kissing a tear from her dirt-smudged cheek.

"I am just glad you aren't hurt worse than you are. Besides, it wouldn't do to have you best me again." He smiled at hr, but his brow furrowed once more, trying to forget the images that had flashed through his head as he'd searched for her: orc arrows piercing her chest, her body crushed under the horse as it fell, orcs slashing her throat and him powerless to stop it. "I'm just glad you are safe." Burying her head in his chest, Faramir wrapped his arms around her protectively.

"Faramir," she said softly. "I'm getting dizzy again." The young captain helped her sit back down and made her drink some more water, waiting until she felt strong enough to begin the long trek back to Minas Tirith.

Boromir was only half listening to what Delan, one of the rangers from Ithilien, had been telling him when he was caught off guard by a question. "Do you agree, my Lord?" Delan asked. Looking up, Boromir found ten sets of eyes looking to him expectantly.

"Do I agree with what? I am sorry. My mind is elsewhere in these matters," Boromir said, trying to remember what on earth they had been discussing.

"Yes, my Lord, about placing more rangers near the black gate. We have sent many into the East to bring back reports from Dagorlad and past Mordor. With the recent activity there, I'm afraid we are going to need more men."

Boromir nodded. "Of course, whatever it is you require. We must find out what we are up against." He quickly folded the large map of Mordor in front of him, effectively ending the meeting whether they were officially finished or not. "I will discuss this with the Steward, but I assure you that you will have the men." The rest of the soldiers stood as their Captain-General left. "Have my horse saddled and ready," he ordered a page outside the meeting room.

"My Lord," Mablung said, rushing towards him, flanked by four other soldiers. "There has been a report of an orc attack in the Stonewain valley. One of the men came across the bodies of two horses and five orcs." Boromir sighed, annoyed that one more thing was going to keep him here when it was nearing early evening. Faramir and Emilyn would be back by now, and all he wanted was to get back to Minas Tirith before any more damage could be done.

"Must I hear of every going on in Ithilien? Send some of your men to search the area for any others. I am headed back to the White City. I have far more pressing business there. Mablung, I trust you can handle this." He dismissed the man, but Mablung didn't move. "I have not the time for games, Mablung. Is there something else?" Boromir asked gruffly.

The older soldier couldn't quite find the words, but finally managed to speak. "One of the horse, my Lord…it was Lindel." Boromir's face turned pale, and he started towards the man.

"Are they certain of this?"

Mablung nodded. "Yes, my Lord. They also found these." He handed Boromir one of Faramir's arrows. His brother had a particular style of fletch that he liked to use and his arrows were unmistakable. "It was taken from one of the orc's bodies," Mablung explained, showing the blood tipping the shaft. The other item was a dark blue, velvet ribbon that had fallen from Emilyn's hair. Boromir looked at it, and his expression darkened. Falling into sorrow, he raced towards the stables.

"Tell your men to follow me! I shall lead this outfit," he commanded.

"Their horses are already saddled, my Lord," Mablung called after Boromir, who was near running to the stable, almost in tears.

"Oh, Emilyn," he whispered to himself. "If you or my brother lie dead, I swear that every orc in Ithilien shall pay the price.


	12. Some Wounds Never Heal

Oh this chapter is so sweet it gives me cavities!

Thanks for all the reviews guys I'm so glad you are enjoying it.

**Chapter Twelve: Some Wounds Never Heal**

The sun was beginning to dip behind them in the west as Emilyn and Faramir made their way up the Stonewain, stopping about every half mile so Emilyn could rest and catch her breath.

"Are you hungry?" Faramir asked handing her a piece of bread that he'd taken from his saddlebag as they stopped under a tree.

"No," she said starting to move forward again, limping slightly and holding onto her arm.

"Emilyn." Faramir hurried after her. "You need to eat something to keep up your strength." Emilyn turned to him. He could see the pain in her face. "You need rest. Let me help you." Carefully puttin his arm around her waist, Faramir let her rest most of her weight on him as they walked. It was slow going, but Faramir was already concerned about how long Emilyn would be able to make it on her own. She'd already had to endure more than most could, and without complaint, but he could see that she was growing weary, even if she refused to let it show.

Boromir had ten men mounted and armed within half an hour. As they left the city, another rider joined them, coming in the direction from Minas Tirith. "Boromir!" Gandalf called riding up next to the steward's heir. "May I ride with you?" Gandalf asked, worry in his voice. Nodding, Boromir set his jaw and rode forward, the rest of the men finding it difficult to keep up with their Captain-General and the gray wizard.

They walked for another hour and a cool wind began to blow dark clouds across the setting sun. Faramir looked up at the clouds that were blanketing the sky and covering the earth in a misty gray. "It's going to storm. We need to find shelter." Faramir looked down to Emilyn. Her face was growing pale. Her hair blew against his shoulder in the cool wind. As if on command, large drops of cold rain began to fall, intermittently at first and then pelting the ground. Urging her forward, Faramir knew he needed to find shelter and fast.

"If I remember correctly, there is a small cave nearby!" he said speaking loud enough so Emilyn could hear over the pouring rain. "Boromir found it about ten years ago when we were hunting, though only Eru knows if it is still here." They were both thoroughly soaked and Emilyn was beginning to shiver. A flash of lightening lit up the sky and Faramir knew they had to stop. He set Emilyn down under a large tree that would hold off some of the rain. Thunder rumbled through the night sky.

"Stay here," he said, attempting a joke with a smile. Emilyn's eyes acknowledged him, but she was too cold and hurt to smile back. Pushing a piece of wet hair from her face, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. It was warm to his lips. "I'll be right back."

The men had gone about five miles when Gandalf pulled his horse alongside Boromir's. The wind had picked up and the strong smell of rain was in the air. "Boromir!" Gandalf called to him, the wind whipping his gray hair about his face. "We cannot go on tonight. A storm is coming. We must turn back-the roads are not safe when the thunder rolls with the clouds!"

Boromir glared at the old man. "I will not leave them out there! What if they are injured? I will not abandon them to scavengers, or this cursed rain."

Moving his horse closer to the anxious soldier, Gandalf tried to speak sense. "They are still alive, Boromir," Gandalf assured him. "But there is nothing we can do for them in the storm; we would never find them." Shaking his head, Boromir began to answer back, but Gandalf stopped him. "Faramir would die himself before letting anything happen to her."

Boromir hesitated and nodded. He knew the wizard was right. Gandalf loved Emilyn like a daughter and would never let harm befall her. If Emilyn was with Faramir, which he had to believe, then she was safe. His brother would protect her with his life, Gandalf was right about that.

With an anxious heart, Boromir turned to his men as the rain began to fall. "We will head to Minas Tirith and begin the search in the morning." He gave his orders and the men turned south and rode towards the White City. A loud crack of thunder broke through the sky and Boromir turned his horse around, forcibly having to will himself not to charge ahead on his own, feeling as if he might burst from the pain of not knowing the fates of the two people he loved most in all the world.

Using the occasional flashes of lightning to guide him, Faramir, by some gift of fate, managed to find the small cave that, in actuality, was more of a crevice between two rocks. He hurried back to Emilyn and found her just as he had left her, shivering and nearly asleep as she rested.

Rain dripped off of Faramir's hair as he knelt down to her. "Emilyn," he said gently, touching her cheek to wake her. "I found it, it's not far." Emilyn moved to stand but Faramir stopped her, picking her up in his arms and carrying her to shelter.

Setting his burden down under the protection of the rocks, Faramir was thankful to be out of the pouring rain. Emilyn grimaced as he set her down. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, afraid he had done her more harm. Shaking her head, Emilyn let out a deep breath. "I'm only worried about you," he said.

"Don't be." Emilyn readjusted her position. "I'm fine," she said, trying to put up a brave front, but knowing she was failing to do so.

"You don't look fine," Faramir said raising his brow in the way he did that held a mixture of amusement and knowledge of the real truth. Emilyn knew she couldn't fool him and finally gave in.

"I'm cold and I hurt," she said shivering. A tear fell, stinging her cheek after being held back all day. Faramir pulled her to him and held her tightly trying to warm her.

After a few minutes her shivering stopped. Laying her head on his shoulder, Emilyn enjoyed the warmth in his arms. Faramir couldn't help but lay his cheek against her wet hair. Sitting that way for a few minutes, they listening to the storm still raging outside.

"Father is probably in an outrage," Faramir said after a particularly loud crash of thunder. "No doubt poor Boromir is suffering more than we are right now." A heavy silence fell between them as they each thought of the proud heir of Gondor, both thinking of their duties and the roles they had to play.

"This isn't the first night we've weathered together in a forest," Emilyn said looking up into the soft blue of Faramir's eyes. "Do you remember? It was on our way to Minas Tirith. The forest had frightened me at first, and I couldn't sleep. I had heard something laughing, at least that's what I thought it was. You told me a story your mother use to tell you until I finally fell asleep."

"I remember," Faramir said with an inward sigh. How could he ever forget? "You were ready for me to send for your brother. I'm glad I didn't have to. No doubt he would have arrived with the entire Rohirrim corps ready for war."

Emilyn tried to laughed, but found it far too painful. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts." She looked back up at Faramir in the darkness. "I can still hear it sometimes. I know it was a dream, or just some animal, but the laughter was so real." She looked out into the dark night. A flash of lightening lit up the sky. "My blood runs cold when I think about it. It's as if something is out there, just waiting to show itself, but what it is that will come out of the shadows when I least expect it I know not."

"There are many evil things in this world, some of which have not yet passed into shadow, but have, unfortunately passed out of memory." His voice was low, knowing all too well how real the evil was and where it came from. "We should not dwell on it though," he said lightly pulling her closer to him. He kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger for a moment as he drank in the scent of her hair. "You should sleep. We have a ways to go tomorrow." The rain began to let up and fall in a gentle patter on the ground outside.

"Do you think they're looking for us?" Emilyn asked, her voice tired and on the verge of sleep, curling closer to Faramir's body resting against the wall of the crevice as she closed her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Faramir breathed in the wet night air. "If I know my brother, a thousand orcs wouldn't be able to stop him." He looked down at Emilyn, tucked into the crook of his arm, and looked out through the rainy curtain for some sign that Boromir was there.

"Oh, brother...where are you when I need you most?" he whispered to the rain.

Boromir stood inside the gates of Minas Tirith watching the sky for a break in the storm, after what had seemed like endless hours. His men stood sheltered under the stables, but Boromir didn't seem to feel or care about the rain. His steely gray eyes were set on the horizon, as if willing the forces of nature to subside with his iron glare.

Gandalf had gone to soothe Denethor's temper, but was now back at the son's side. "Only a few hours more till dawn," he said contemplating the sky above him. "The storm will have given its all by then." There was a low, distant rumble of thunder and the downpour began to slow. Boromir turned to Gandalf and motioned to his men.

"We ride now."

Faramir woke from a light sleep to the early morning sun creeping into the small cave they had found shelter in. He felt Emilyn's steady breathing in his arms and ran a hand over her forehead. He was trying to decide if it would be best to find help and come back for her when something outside caught his ear. The sound was distant at first- caught on the wind and gone just as quickly, but it grew stronger. He could soon make out men's voices and distinctly heard them calling their names.

"Emilyn," he said waking her. "I'll be back."

The young woman, now aroused from her slumber, slid back onto the wall gingerly as her backrest went to go summon help.

"Faramir! Emilyn!" Boromir and Gandalf took turns calling for the two as they rode slowly into the Stonewain valley looking about for any sign of them. Boromir held up his hand, hearing something nearby. Drawing their swords, the men were relieved when they saw Faramir coming towards them. The second son of the Steward was a sight, his arm covered in blood that didn't look to be his, and his hair rumpled.

"It's about time you arrived," he said relieved to see his brother and Gandalf. Jumping from his horse, Boromir nearly knocked his younger brother over with the force of his hug. Releasing his brother, Boromir's joy was quickly replaced with dread and concern.

"Where's Emilyn?" he asked, almost as if realizing some terrible fate had consumed her.

"Follow me," Faramir said leading his brother to the cave. "I found your old hiding place. We needed somewhere to get out of the rain. She's doing all right, but she's hurt." Faramir stopped about a hundred feet from where they had spent the night. He wanted to warn Boromir so that he knew what they were dealing with and didn't cause her more harm in his rush to get her to a healer. "The orcs came out of nowhere. She was thrown from Lindel when they shot the horse." Faramir could see his brother's frame tense with anger. "I believe her arm is broken as well as a couple of ribs." Without a moment to lose, Boromir rushed towards the cave. Faramir stood back as Gandalf hurried towards him.

"How is she?" he asked.

Faramir turned to him an unexplained sadness in his eyes. "She will heal." He began to head towards the horses, but Gandalf stopped him.

"Faramir," the wizard called, not satisfied with their conversation's end. "How are you?" he asked, his tone implying that he was not referring to his physical state.

Faramir attempted a smile, but his eyes told of his pain. "I will heal as well, Mithrandir...in time."

Boromir found Emilyn lying on the stone floor of the cave, her breathing steady but shallow. Kneeling down, he scooped her up in his arms.

"Boromir," she said breathlessly. "Where's Faramir?" A small pain shot through Boromir's chest at her obvious concern for his brother, but he dismissed it with a smile.

"He's with Gandalf. Right now, though, we need to get you help, little one." Boromir carried her to the horses and sat her carefully in front of him. Looking back to Faramir, he gave him a nod of thanks, feeling both grateful and guilty at having her in his arms.

Boromir let Gandalf and Faramir take Emilyn to the healer's while he went to speak with his father, letting him know that both parties were safe and back in the city. Denethor said very little and Boromir excused himself. As he entered the houses of healing he was immediately approached by a healer who apprised him of his betrothed's condition.

"We wrapped her ribs and set her arm," the woman said. "She is very lucky. We've given her something to help her sleep for now and she will feel much better when she wakes." Boromir thanked him and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh before he walked down the hall. He came to her room, but stopped when he saw the scene inside.

Sitting by her bedside, Faramir's hand held hers as he watched her sleep. Boromir felt a twinge of jealousy as he watched, his feelings on the subject too confusing to sort through right now. He refused to fight his brother for her, but he would not give her up easily.

"Father wants to see you," he said standing at the door.

Standing, Faramir looked at his older brother cautiously like a child caught sneaking candy and wondering whether he was going to be punished, but none came. "I excepted as much," he said standing. "I was just avoiding the inevitable." Coming to the door, Faramir stopped and looked from his brother back to the sleeping girl. "I didn't want her to wake up alone," he said, bracing himself for what he knew would not be a pleasant encounter with his father.

In an all too familiar position, Faramir approached his father cautiously as he entered the Hall of Steward's. Denethor looked up from his throne and stood, dismissing the guards at the door with a single look. He walked down the marble steps and stood in front of his youngest son, his angry face speaking volumes.

"You have returned," he said, holding back his anger for the moment.

"Yes, father. We were attacked by orcs. I believed them to be scouts. They came out of nowhere," Faramir said, trying to explain what had happened but knowing full well that it would do no good.

"Orcs?" Denethor said condescendingly. "There have been no reports of orcs between Minas Tirith and the Gray Wood."

Faramir lowered his head. "We were on the Stonewain, father."

Denethor looked up, feigning surprise. "The Stonewain?" Denethor placed his hands behind his back and paced in front of the steps. "Faramir, I don't remember any maps I know of having the Stonewain as a way to return to Minas Tirith?"

"We were racing," Faramir admitted.

Denethor turned back to his son. "And whose idea was that?"

"Mine, father."

Stepping close to Faramir, Denethor finally letting his anger loose. "Do you think I am ignorant? Do you think I don't see how you follow that girl around like a dog? Do you think I don't notice how you watch her? How she is always seeking your approval? How she laughs at the littlest things you say? She is to be your brother's wife, and I will not see her fall in love with her husband's brother! Too much political importance rides on this!" Denethor finished his tirade, the frown returning to his face.

Faramir looked to the marbled floor and spoke quietly. "I did not mean to do so, father."

"And we will make certain it does not interfere with these carefully laid plans of mine," Denethor spat back. "Tomorrow morning you will be placed in charge of the garrison at Osgiliath. You will answer to Boromir and I would prefer not to see you in the White City unless absolutely necessary. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, father," Faramir said softly. "I understand."

"Good," Denethor said, turning back to his throne. "This... affair," he spat the word out like a bone in his meat, "will end today."

Emilyn woke to the sweet smell of some herb she couldn't name and found herself surrounded by soft pillows. There was still an aching in her chest, but she could take a deep breath once again without pain. Turning her head to the sound of voices in the hallway, she saw Gandalf and Faramir speaking in hushed tones. Gandalf turned and saw her awake. Giving her a sad smile, he entered the room.

"Emilyn," his voice was trying to be joyful, but she could tell that there was something wrong. "Good morning. You gave us quite a scare. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she said looking to him for an answer. "What is wrong, Gandalf?"

Gandalf shook his head. "Nothing dear, there's someone who wants to see you." He left as Faramir entered, and Emilyn knew without being told what had happened.

"You saw your father. I can see it in your face, in your eyes...he's not happy with you, is he?" she said, sitting up against her pillows. Faramir nodded grimly.

"I am to report to Osgiliath tomorrow. I don't know when I will return to the City. My new duties will keep me occupied for some time," he said, not wanting to look at her.

"You're being sent away because of me," Emilyn said angrily. "It wasn't your fault. It was my idea. Bring you father here and I will tell him that. I will see him myself if I have to. He can send me back to Rohan for all I care, but you cannot be punished for this." Faramir sat next to her on the bed and took her hand.

"No," he said adamantly, looking into her dark eyes. "It was my idea, do you understand? Mine."

Shaking her head, Emilyn brought her hand to his cheek. "I will not let him do this to you." She knew all too well why he was taking the blame for her.

"You have to," Faramir said, bringing his hand to hers and touching her small, slender fingers. "You must let me go." He was near close to tears, his voice shaking

"Faramir," Emilyn shook her head again. "Why? Why do you let him do this to you?" she said, tears trickling down her cheeks. "You can't let him do this."

"I have no choice," he said touching the soft curls around her face. "We'll see each other soon. I promise. He can't keep me away forever."

"But..." Emilyn went to speak, but Faramir stopped her words with a kiss, his lips touching hers with a spark that pulled them together. He tasted the salty tears running down her cheeks, never wanting the moment to end. Pulling back, his eyes closed, he forced himself to stop.

"I'm sorry," he said standing.

Emilyn moved forward and grabbed his hand, holding onto it. "Faramir," she said. "Please, I.." Moving quickly, Faramir covered her mouth with another kiss.

"Don't," he said in a whisper, his lips brushing her cheek, taking in the salty tears on his lips. "You must never say it. You are to be Boromir's. We can do nothing to change that. You are my sister, and I can be nothing more than your brother." Kissing her cheek, he hurried out the door, leaving Emilyn alone and in utter misery.

Outside Faramir leaned against the white stone of the wall, trying to erase from his memory the softness of her lips, the sweet smell of her hair, the way she said his name, the words she almost spoke. He tried to forget, but knew that he never would.


	13. The Calm Before the Storm

**Chapter Thirteen: The Calm Before the Storm**

Faramir spent a restless night in the garrison of Osgiliath. He closed his eyes once more after waking from a strange dream that was becoming too familiar, only to have it start anew. He found himself in a country of green grass, greener than he had ever seen, lush trees, delicate flowers, and small hills that rolled over the land. The air was sweet and fresh, untouched by the evils of the world. There were inhabitants in this strange land, creatures of the like he had never seen before. At first they appeared to be children, both in size and stature, but he soon realized that they, in actuality, were grown men.

There was a distant rumble in the sky and he turned to the east, only to sea the sky becoming dark while a tinge of glowing red hung in the air. He then saw a broken sword, the shards lying on a pedestal, followed by an image of the white tree of Gondor in flames. Forcing himself awake, Faramir sat up in bed suddenly, not wanting, or daring to see anymore.

He climbed out of bed and walked to the window, opening the shutters to get some air. Looking out over the Pelennor fields he saw Minas Tirith standing white in the moonlit night. It had been eighteen months, eighteen long months since he had been home, partly because his father had wished it, and partly because he felt the need himself- the need for distance.

Gazing towards where the palace was housed, his thoughts lingered to Emilyn. He wondered how she was faring, if she was happy, if she missed him. Dismissing the thoughts as quickly as they came, he looked towards the heavens, but something in the horizon caught his eye. From high in the tower of Ecthelion came a small red glow. His stomach knotted at the unknown source of light, knowing somehow that it did not come from good. He watched it for a few more moments, searching for some hidden clue as to its origin, but finally turned away.

Giving up sleep, he dressed and decided it best to do an early check of the guards. Boromir was set to arrive sometime in the morning after having been gone for a couple of months and Faramir wanted everything to be in order. Strapping on his sword, he walked out into the old city.

"Boromir!" Faramir called, greeting his brother as he dismounted his horse and took off his gloves. Boromir gave his younger brother a hug.

"It's good to see you," Boromir said stepping back.

"How are the borderlands?" Faramir asked, knowing Gondor's Captain-General had just returned from a tour of the territories to see just where possible trouble lay.

Boromir let out a heavy sight and ran a hand through his hair. "There's really nothing to tell. Reports of orcs have increased, but not alarmingly. The Haradrim have been on the move, but there is nothing threatening in that. They are up to something, but they're being very quiet about it." Boromir stopped and looked at his brother. "You look tired, has there been trouble?"

Faramir shook his head. "No, just dreams keeping me from a decent rest."

Slapping his brother on the back, Boromir laughed. "I'll tell you what you need," he said. "A good, strong glass of wine. You'll sleep like a baby."

"I'll have to give that a try," Faramir quipped, knowing his brother didn't understand.

"How are things here?" Boromir asked as they walked through the city looking over the guards and the newest fortifications.

"Fairly quiet, only routine problems. We found a few orcs by the river two weeks ago, but other than that there has been nothing suspicious." Faramir stopped walking and addressed his brother. "I fear though. Something is beginning in Mordor. I don't know what, but I can feel it." Boromir studied his brother, knowing that Faramir had the gift of foresight at times. Their mother's blood had given them that, but it ran stronger in Faramir, always buried in books, than Boromir, the warrior brother.

"Don't worry, brother. Mordor can't throw anything at us that we can't handle. Gondor is strong. We will weather this storm like all the others before it." They continued on and walked silently for a few minutes.

"Have you been back to Minas Tirith yet?" Faramir asked, trying to make polite conversation.

"Not yet," Boromir answered. "I stopped here first, but I am anxious to do so. Two months is a fair amount of time to be away." Boromir stopped, suddenly realizing how it must have sounded. "Faramir, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It's alright," Faramir answered ,standing at a wall that overlooked the Anduin.

"How long has it been?" Boromir asked, sorry for his brother- so close to home, yet not welcome. Even he had thought their father's decision harsh.

"Eighteen months and four days," Faramir replied. Boromir marveled inwardly at his precision, and his smile turned sad.

"I am sorry, brother. I didn't agree with father on this. I want you to know that."

"How is she?" Faramir asked, figuring there was no perfect way to broach the subject.

Boromir took a deep breath, not knowing quite how to answer without sounding harsh. What should he say? That he and Emilyn had grown very close over the past months? That he was looking forward to the day they would finally be wed? That she was as spirited and as beautiful as ever? Or should he tell him that there was a part of her that desperately missed and needed Faramir? That Boromir knew, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to fill the void that she was missing?

"She is fine," Boromir finally said, dismissing the subject. Nodding, Faramir looked back over the river, still and unmoving in the morning light. "Well," Boromir said straightening himself. "I suppose I should make my way to the city. Father will want my reports." He turned to Faramir. "You've done a good job, little brother. I will tell him that."

"Thank you," Farmair said, embracing him. "Give him my best."

Stepping back, Boromir nodded. "I will," he said, knowing that it wasn't only his father Faramir wished to send his love to.

The sun had grown warm as it rose in the morning sky. Straightening her back, her hair held up in braids, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, Emilyn focused her eyes on the target ahead of her. Setting her jaw, she pulled back on the bowstring, keeping her arm as straight as possible and willing her muscles not to move. She silently counted to three and released. The arrow flew through the air striking the target dead on in the center.

She couldn't help but smile to herself, proud of her accomplishment. Feeling the familiar heat rise to her cheeks, she realized how silly she must look, embarrassed that someone might see her congratulating herself.

Taking another arrow from the quiver on her back, she began the process over again. She straightened herself, pulled the bowstring tight and focused. She was about to release when she felt someone behind her. They were close, but she ignored whoever it was and focused on the target. She felt a soft kiss on the back of her neck, closed her eyes and fired. Now she knew who it was-there was only one man in Gondor who could do that without losing his head. She opened them at the sound of the arrow hitting the target to see that it had landed only inches away from her previous shot.

"Very impressive," came the deep voice from behind her. Turning around, Emilyn found herself looking up into Boromir's rugged features. He smiled at her. "You've been practicing." Emilyn's cheeks flushed at the compliment and she took the quiver from her back.

"I have to be prepared," she said walking towards the target in order to retrieve her arrows.

"You have to be prepared for what?" Boromir called after her, wondering what she was up to.

She walked towards him, arrows in hand, brushing an unruly curl from her face with her forearm. She smiled, her cheeks pink from the sun. "I'm going to Edoras."

Boromir laughed, but stopped when he realized she was serious. "No, you're not. It's far too dangerous. Whose idea was this anyway?"

Looking up at him, Emilyn gave him a coy smile. "Your father thought it was a good idea," she said, enjoying having the upper hand for once. "It took a little bit of convincing, but in the end, he agreed."

"Really," Boromir said looking down at her skeptically, now wondering what it was his father was up to. "I see that it's fairly safe to say that the two of you didn't kill each other while I was gone."

Laughing, Emilyn gathered her things. "It was difficult, but I tried my best to behave...and hold my tongue," she added quickly before he did it for her.

"Good," Boromir chuckled taking her bow and quiver from her and shouldering them. He smiled as Emilyn tucked her arm in his and walked closely by his side.

"Did you have any grand adventures on your trip?" Emilyn asked looking up and remembering just how handsome the man next to her was. Boromir caught her watching him, which caused her to blush deeply. Straightening his shoulders, he puffed his chest out a bit, proud that she was admiring him.

"Unfortunately, no," he said, guiding her through the streets of the city. "Everything is quiet," he said thinking on the sense of foreboding that lingered in the back of his mind.

"Then all the more reason for me to go to Edoras," she said happily.

"I said it was quiet, not safe. Too quiet if you ask me. Faramir agrees with me. Something is coming." Boromir looked at Emilyn, not entirely sure what a mention of his brother would do to her.

"You've been to Osgiliath?" Emilyn asked quietly.

"This morning." Boromir wished he hadn't said anything, feeling her stiffen when he mentioned Faramir's name. "He sends you his best," he said quickly. They walked a little father.

"Have you heard from your brother?" he asked, hoping to change the subject and bring her back to him.

"Yes, but I could tell that something was wrong. It was very short and he said nothing of my uncle. I do not believe it will be a pleasant visit."

"So that's what you were preparing for?" he said teasing her.

"Don't make fun," she said with a pout. "I'm being serious. I don't want to be unarmed and helpless."

Boromir squeezed her arm. "I would never make fun. Archery is good for distances, but you should also have a sword or dagger. In case your enemy is close."

Emilyn smiled at him. "You promised to teach me, you know. And you have yet to step onto a practice yard with me."

"That I did," Boromir said smiling to himself- match won. She was his again. "I'm coming with you," Boromir said matter-of-factly receiving only a look of exasperation in return.

"Boromir, I'm twenty-four years old. Your father will send guards with me. Besides, I don't know if I really want to risk another run-in between you and my brother. My cousin will be there too, remember? I'd hate to see you outnumbered by male relatives that love me and don't want to relinquish the baby of the family to Gondor."

"I promise to behave," he said.

Emilyn shook her head. "No," she said, not convinced.

Emilyn, who hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, stopped. "Boromir, where are we going?" she asked, realizing that they had just passed the city's south gates and were walking towards the river.

"It's a surprise," Boromir said mysteriously.

They wound their way to a secluded spot along the Anduin where the river rested in a gentle pool. Ancient trees dipped their long branches into the glassy water.

"Boromir," Emilyn exclaimed when she saw the beauty of the place. "I thought I'd been everywhere in the city, but I've never seen this place before." Boromir simply smiled and showed her to a spot of grass under an old willow tree.

Sitting under its branches was a small picnic lunch. Boromir held aside the willow's branches, leading her into the shade of the tree that was curtained from the outside world.

"Boromir, what is this?" she asked.

Boromir tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "I missed you," he said, gently kissing her cheek. "This is for you. Here," he said reaching in his pocket. "I bought this for you. It reminded me of the necklace Gandalf gave you. I thought you would like it." Boromir handed her a silver ring engraved with a single vine from which small buds sprouted. Small diamonds were set in the tiny flowers making the ring sparkle and shine.

"It's beautiful," Emilyn managed to say. Smiling nervously, Boromir placed it on her finger, thankful that it fit.

"I'm glad you like it. It's not from the elves, but from one of the finest craftsmen in Gondor made just for you."

Emilyn leaned forward and stopped his mouth with a kiss. "Thank you," she said, nearly speechless at what he had done.

They sat and ate lunch until the sun began to dip in the west, Boromir entertaining Emilyn with tales of wars and battles. The afternoon grew hot and muggy and Emilyn sighed contentedly listening to the deep rumble of Boromir's voice as she sat beside him leaning against the trunk of the old willow tree. She could be thoroughly happy with this man and she knew it. He cared for her deeply, and she loved him. But no matter how hard she tried to ignore it there was still a small bit of emptiness that could not be ignored, the open space in her heart that could only be filled by one person. Her thoughts strayed to Faramir. He was so close across the Pelennor, but he might as well be a thousand miles away. Did he ever think of her? Did he miss her as she did him?

"What are you thinking about?" Boromir asked distracting her from her thoughts.

"Home," she said with a sad smile, covering her lie. "And how much I miss it."

Boromir touched her arm. "You'll be there soon," he said assuring her. Emilyn smiled, glad he couldn't read her thoughts and see the untruth in her voice as his father could.

"Come on," Boromir said standing and leaving the confines of their picnic.

"Come on where?" Emilyn asked watching him unbutton his vest, and setting it aside so he was only wearing his tunic and pants.

"Swimming," Boromir stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He reached down to take her hand.

"No," Emilyn said with finality.

"No? Why ever not?" Boromir asked playfully.

Pulling her knees to her chest, Emilyn set her eyes on him refusing to budge. "I don't like to," she said.

"And I can't change your mind?" Boromir asked, amused.

"I'm afraid not. When I was five, Éomer and my cousin decided to teach me to swim. Their lesson consisted of throwing me into the Isen. It was freezing cold and Éomer ended up having to jump in himself to fetch me before I drowned. Needless to say, they were both in deep trouble, and never tried that again."

Boromir laughed, picturing the ever so intimidating nephew of Theoden being scolded. "I promise I won't throw you in." He bent her down and picked her up in his arms.

"Boromir, please," Emilyn begged. "Why don't we go riding? Or we can go to the gardens, please?" Boromir ignored her pleas with a smile and Emilyn buried her head into his shoulder as he stepped into the water.

"Now," he said walking out until the warm water covered both of them. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"You're going to regret this," she said, pretending to be angry.

Setting her down in the water, Boromir touched her hair with a wet hand. Emilyn smiled- she couldn't resist wrapping her arms around Boromir's neck, relishing the strength and safety of his arms.

It was almost evening. The light blue of the sky was slowly turning to a fiery orange as Emilyn opened her sleepy eyes, resting her head on Boromir's chest under the willow tree. She listened to his steady breathing, as he ran his fingers through her long curls drying in the gentle breeze.

"Boromir?" she asked, twisting the bit of string that tied his tunic in her fingers. "Would you do something for me?"

"Anything," he responded, blissfully content. Rolling over on her stomach, Emilyn smiled at him playfully. She kissed him for good measure, letting her lips linger for a moment and laid her head next to his, running her fingers lightly over his jaw.

"It's midsummer's eve next week and your father is planning a big celebration." She paused for a moment deciding the best way to ask. "I want you to make sure that Faramir is able to come." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted saying anything. Boromir's chest stopped moving and he sat up slowly, a hurt in his eyes she had never seen before.

"You want Faramir there?" His voice was distant and cold.

"It's just not fair to him," she replied, trying to make him understand. "This is his home. He's been away for too long. It is time for him to return." Emilyn spoke to him gently, like a wife soothing an angry husband. Boromir shook his head slowly, half clearing his head, and half trying to convince himself that Emilyn did not sound just like a wife.

"Emilyn, I don't think that would be..." Emilyn took his face in her hands, the silver ring he had given her glistening in the light of the setting sun.

"_You_ are to be my husband," she said, her eyes trying to convince him as much as she was trying to convince herself. "He is to be my brother, and he deserves to be there as much as any man in Minas Tirith." She kissed Boromir's lips softly, melting any reservations he had until he took her in his arms and laid her back in the soft grass.


	14. Visions

Ok. So, after going back and forth for days, I have finally decided how this is going to end. Needless to say…you are going to have to trust me, and remember that in the fanfiction world, anything goes . I PROMISE you won't be disappointed! I'm actually a little giddy about what's going to happen, but we have to get to the end first.

Enjoy.

**Chapter Fourteen: Visions**

Emilyn held the long knife that Boromir handed her timidly, playing her part to perfection as he spoke to her. They were alone in the practice hall next to the archery ranges, a place where soldiers young and old could come and refine their skills. Boromir was in his element and Emilyn was enjoying letting him savor the moment.

"Now, you hold it like this," he said, wrapping her fingers around the engraved leather handle. "You have to hold it tightly or your opponent might knock it from your hand." Emilyn nodded, smiling at his fatherly instruction. "Don't worry about hurting me, I'll watch myself, but I want you to give it everything you've got." Moving backwards, he put about ten feet of space between them. "Are you ready?" he asked. Emilyn nodded tentatively.

Lunging towards her, Boromir thought she would be frightened, especially this first time. He went to grab her around the waist, but Emilyn turned quickly and in an instant had the knife at his throat. Boromir, not moving a muscle, looked up to her with shock.

"You've done this before," he said smartly, his tone accusing. Taking the knife from his throat, Emilyn raised her eyebrow playfully.

"Archery is not the only thing I've been practicing without your guidance," she said with a satisfied grin.

Straightening himself, Boromir gathered his pride. "Well, how are you with a sword?" He asked, walking to where the practice swords were hanging on the wall and handed her one, unsure whether he should give her instruction or not. Sensing his hesitation, Emilyn laughed.

"The sword is not my strong suit," she said, trying to assure the man that she couldn't beat him on those terms.

"Then we'll have to remedy that, won't we?" He swung his sword towards her and Emilyn blocked it. A smile crossed his face as he realized that she was, in fact, holding back somewhat nervously as he swung again. He could see in her face that she was concentrating, trying to remember moves and anticipate how to block him. Boromir countered quickly, pushing her back with a quick series of swings. Becoming flustered, Emilyn's the sword fell as Boromir's hit her hand, jamming one of her fingers and slightly cutting her hand. Emilyn cried out and held her hand, nursing it, trying to stop the pain.

"I'm so sorry," Boromir said, dropping his sword to the floor with a clatter, rushing to her. He took her hand and held it to his lips. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said sounding pathetic, but before Boromir knew what was happening Emilyn wrapped her foot around his and knocked it out from under him. Losing his balance, he landed with a thud on his back and looked up to see Emilyn standing over him with a proud smile, her sword ready to be thrust it into his stomach.

"That was not fair," he said laughing, proud of her cleverness.

"I'm sorry," she said with a sigh as she tossed the sword aside. "It was the only way." Boromir grabbed her leg and pulled her down on top of him causing her to fall onto his chest.

"Now was that necessary?" she asked playfully.

"Very," he said. Pulling her closer, he rolled her over gently so that he was on top of her, kissing her deeply, enjoying the way her small body felt under his when someone cleared their throat at the door. Looking up, Boromir scrambled to his feet.

"Faramir," he said, embarrassment and surprise evident in his voice. "I was not expecting you until later this evening.

"I apologize," Faramir said uncomfortably. "They told me you were here." He glanced at Emilyn who stood and smoothed her skirts. "I'm sorry for the...intrusion." Turning , he left the practice room.

Boromir cursed and ran a hand through his hair while all Emilyn could do was stare at the door, her eyes wide, mortified at what had just happened.

"I have to go to him," she said softly.

"Emilyn, that is not a good idea," Boromir called after her as she was running out the door.

"Faramir!" Emilyn yelled running after him. "Faramir, wait!"

Hearing her voice, Faramir stopped, his breath catching in his throat, but couldn't bring himself to turn around. He didn't know if he could face her.

"Faramir," Emilyn said, breathless from trying to catch up to him. "You're here!" she said with a smile.

"Yes," he said not meeting her smiling eyes. "Boromir insisted I come."

Emilyn bent her head until she found his eyes, forcing him to look at her. "I've missed you," she said searching his reluctant face for a hint of how he felt. He finally focused on her and she saw his face soften. She smiled, relieved. "I've missed you so much," she said again, taking his hand. A slight smile reluctantly crossed Faramir's face and he nodded.

"I missed you too." The words seemed dry on his tongue, foreign to his mind. He wasn't supposed to say them, but he had.

"Can I come see you later?" she asked. "So we can talk?"

Faramir began to protest, as he knew he should, but couldn't do it. "I hope the opportunity comes soon for such things," he said honestly.

Emilyn nodded. "Good." There was an awkward moment of silence, neither knowing what to say. "I'll see you tonight then," Emilyn said, not being able to help but notice the tension of the moment. She went to kiss his cheek as she always did, but stopped and simply smiled at him. "I'm glad you're here," she said instead, squeezing his hand before he left.

Emilyn looked to the ground as he walked away. She raised her eyes to see her future husband standing across from her. There was a look of pity in his face- sadness mixed with something else, fear? Jealousy?

"Boromir," she began to say, but he stepped away from her. "Boromir, don't be cross with me," she begged, trying to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he brushed her aside.

"Come along," he said, his voice distant. "Roma came looking for you." Emilyn took his hand and Boromir turned to her with a kiss. "One day," he said in his soft, rich voice, "you will have to decide between us." Kissing her again, he left her to choke back the tears that were all too ready to fall.

"Father?" Boromir called, entering the steward's chambers. "The guests have all arrived and the food is being served. They are asking for you."

Denethor entered his main chamber somewhat disturbed, but said nothing as to why. Mumbling something under his breath, he glared at his son. "What is it?" he asked.

"The guests, father. They are waiting for you," Boromir repeated, a bit concerned by his father's behavior.

"Yes, yes," the Steward grumbled. "We mustn't keep them waiting. The glory of Gondor must shine before it fades."

If Boromir was concerned about his father's comment, he kept it to himself. "Father," Boromir said, making his father pause at the doorway. "I plan on accompanying Emilyn to Edoras tomorrow when she leaves."

"You will do no such thing," he said, dismissing the subject and continuing down the hall.

Frustrated, Boromir continued after his father. "I will not let her go by herself."

"I am sending four guards with her. I need you here. Your place is in Gondor, not Rohan. Besides, if the enemy decides to test us I do not believe your brother would have the courage to stop them. He would portray us as weak and ready to fall."

"I have the utmost faith in Faramir, father. He would not fail his country."

Denethor's eyes narrowed. "My answer is 'no'. There will be no more discussion of the matter; my decision has been made."

Boromir watched his father continue down the hall. Hitting the wall with his hand he cursed, not noticing the sting in his fist where it had struck the stone. When would he be able to live his own life? When would he be allowed some peace, some freedom to make his own choices?

The entire city of Minas Tirith was lit with light like a bright star, shining in the dark heavens, a beacon for hope. Thousands of torches and candles lined the streets, making the White City shine against the inky backdrop of the night sky. Guests from throughout Gondor had traveled to the city for this night to celebrate the glory of their country. In beauty and majesty, they filed into the Hall of Stewards and toured the gardens as music filled the night air along with the gentle hum of conversation and the muted clinking of plates and silverware.

Emilyn stood outside the Hall of Stewards watching the guests, waiting for the arrival of the Steward and his sons. Boromir had wanted to accompany her, but she managed to slip out before he arrived. She needed some time to herself, some time to gather her thoughts. A few guests passed by her and bowed politely. She smiled back, her thoughts elsewhere.

"I've been looking for you," Boromir said coming up from behind her. "Are you hiding from me, little one?" Emilyn smiled at how the name she had once hated could now fill her with delight as he spoke it. She turned to him and walked into his arms hiding her face in his broad shoulder.

"I am sorry," she said regretfully.

Boromir lifted her face to his. "It is forgotten. You look beautiful," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. Blushing, Emilyn hid her face with a 'thank you'. Roma had made her a silvery violet dress that shimmered in the candlelight. They had found some small white flowers that they twisted in her hair, pulling part of it back and away from her face, while the rest fell down her back in long curls, the violet of her gown bringing out the deep red in her hair. "Come along," he said. "Father is waiting for us...and no complaining," he said, looking up just in time to see her make a face. "I promise to save you if he becomes unbearable." Offering her his arm, she took it with a small smile, and led her into the Hall.

The mood inside the Hall of Stewards instantly revived her spirits, and not even the constant disapproving frowns from Denethor could dampen her joy. She danced with Boromir, the Prince of Dol Amroth and any one else who asked her until her feet ached and she needed fresh air. She begged her partner, one of her betrothed's young lieutenants, to forgive her for not finishing out the dance and made her way through the crowds to one of the balconies.

Drinking in a large gulp of the night air, she closed her eyes, letting it cool and relax her excited heart, still pumping with the beat of the music. She stood peacefully for a moment, enjoying the silence when a voice, caught on the wind, grabbed her attention. Turning in the direction from which it came, she saw the familiar figure of the gray wizard looking out over the bonfires that lit up the Pelennor fields, his back turned to her. He was speaking in a low voice to the man next to him that Emilyn knew too well. She smiled amid her trepidation at disturbing the two and rushed towards them- he had been gone too long for her to ignore his presence.

"Gandalf?" Emilyn said meekly, a shadow of childish strain still in her voice as she stood behind the old wizard. He turned at the sound, a smile in his eyes.

"Emilyn, my dear. It does my heart good to see you." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he kissed her forehead. "You grow more beautiful everyday, doesn't she, Faramir?" Faramir turned to Emilyn as well. He caught her eye and a bit of his former self returned as he raised a brow with a smile.

"That she does," he said. Emilyn smiled back, thankful that their friendship had endured. Emboldened, she took a step towards her old friend.

"Would you dance with me, Faramir?" she asked. Faramir opened his mouth, but said nothing, not convinced that would be the wisest of decisions.

"I do not think my father would look kindly on that," he said, a hint of promised rebellion in his voice.

"What is he going to do?" she asked stepping closer and laying her hand on his arm. "Send me away? I'm leaving for Edoras tomorrow anyway. I don't think he wants to risk an alliance with Rohan over a simple dance." Faramir looked to Gandalf as if asking for advice, his eyes pleading for an answer.

"I can't see too much harm in it," Gandalf assured. Emilyn's face brightened and she looked to Faramir expectantly. Giving in, he nodded.

"All right," he said. "Let me speak with Mithrandir a moment more and then I'll join you." He held onto her hand until the tips of their fingers parted, watching as she turned back to him with a loving smile before she was lost in the crowd.

"Faramir," Gandalf said knowingly, sensing that something was amiss. "What is going on? Normally you would follow that child like her shadow. Now you hesitate?"

Faramir sighed. "It is not my place to be her protector or her shadow. My place, unfortunately, is to watch from afar." He moved to join her, but stopped before he entered the Hall- unmoving as if in a trance, his face suddenly pale.

Concerned, Gandalf stepped forward. "Faramir," he said forcefully getting the young captain's attention. "What did you see?" Faramir, visibly shaken, looked to the guests in the Hall and focused on two figures speaking closely, intimately. Emilyn saw him from across the Hall and smiled to him again, laughing as his brother whispered something in her ear before returning to his guests.

"She is not for Boromir to marry; One day she ...will be my wife," he said, his voice detached from emotion. Excusing himself, Faramir hurried out of the crowded Hall, leaving Gandalf alone to ponder the fate of the Steward's eldest son.


	15. The Growing Darkness

So, it had come to my attention that, in my hurry to get chapters out, I have not been editing very well.

Needless to say, I will do better. I don't have a beta for this story right now, and working on three different projects right now is a bit crazy. I promise that I will pay better attention.

**Chapter Fifteen: The Growing Darkness**

Emilyn saddled her horse as the guards accompanying her broke their camp. "We should be in Edoras by early afternoon, my lady." Nodding, Emilyn gathered the rest of her things.

They had been traveling for four days, resting only when need called for it. They were on the plains of Rohan now, only hours away from the home she had longed for years to see again, but her thoughts could not have been further away. Emilyn had spent the past days of riding thinking of her parting from Minas Tirith and how she had left things with Boromir.

It had been early the morning after the midsummer's eve celebration, most of the city not having yet seen their beds. Denethor had ignored his son's arguments throughout the night and was still determined to have him remain near the White City.

"I will go if you wish me to," Boromir said helping her ready her horse. "I don't care what my father says." Strapping her horse's saddle, Emilyn laughed. Moving towards him she put her arms around his waist, and laid her head against his strong chest.

"I will be fine. I would hate for your father to be cross with both of us. He wouldn't know what to do with himself. He would declare both you and Faramir unfit to rule and have you locked away." Boromir held her close, running a hand through her hair. He did not want to let her go alone, but knew that she was right. He could not defy his father.

"I will miss you," she said closing her eyes, enjoying the comfort in his arms and surprising herself at the truth in her words. She would miss him, and she knew it. Kissing the top of her head, Boromir took her hand in his.

"Emilyn, I have been thinking...about us." Shifting nervously, he kissed her hand, gathering his thoughts, feeling the cold metal of the ring he had given her as it touched his lips. "I know, given the circumstances, it is merely a formality," he paused searching for words that didn't sound ridiculous, "but when you return, will you marry me? Will you be my wife?"

Emilyn's heart was beating so loudly in her chest she thought it might burst. She didn't know what to say. It was her duty to marry him, that's what she had been brought there for- she owed it to her country, her family, her king. But Boromir was giving her a choice. He wanted to marry her, not her relations, or her political ties. Could she do the same? Could she choose the man kneeling in front of her, casting away any feelings she might hold for anyone else?

Sensing her hesitation, Boromir kissed her lips. "I want you to be mine."

"Yes," she somehow said, not even sure that it came from her mouth until she saw the broad smile that spread across Boromir's face. Grabbing her around her waist, he picked her up off the floor and swung her around. Emilyn finally realized what had just happened when he sat her back down on her feet and kissed her, touching his forehead to hers as they parted.

"I promise to make you happy," he said softly. "You won't regret this." Boromir's face was lit up in a smile and Emilyn couldn't help but do the same. She had done it, she had made the decision she never thought she'd be able to.

"We are ready to depart, my lord," Droman, one of the guards accompanying her said, breaking up the moment between the couple. Kissing Emilyn's forehead, Boromir turned to the guard, his shoulders pulled back, every bit of him the Captain-General of Gondor.

"Let me make it clear to you," he said, walking towards the guard. "You have my bride in your care. If any harm should befall her, I will deal with you personally. Do I make myself clear?" the guard nodded nervously.

"Lady Emilyn," Droman said from behind her. "The men are ready." Wiping away the tears that had come unknowingly to her eyes, Emilyn turned around with a falsely confident smile.

"Let's go," she said mounting her horse and following, her mind wandering to that empty space in her heart that she knew Boromir, no matter how much she loved him, would never be able to fill.

Edoras loomed ahead of them and Emilyn couldn't help but let out a sigh as she imagined looking upon her old home- the grassy plains, the roaring wind, the smell of earth and life. After years of living in the White City, she had forgotten how open it was here. Her heart ached, torn between the longing for the city she now belonged to, and the place that was in her blood.

The party from Gondor was stopped at the gates of Edoras by armed men jumping to their feet at their approach, barring the way. Emilyn had expected not to be recognized after being away for so long and had hoped that either her brother or cousin would have heard of their entering the borders and rode out greet them. Unfortunately, that had not happened, and Emilyn was placed in a somewhat humbling position for the king's niece to be in.

"What is your business," one of the men, who had obviously been at his post for too many hours, asked mechanically. Assuming her most confident and noble bearing, Emilyn spoke.

"I am Emilyn, niece of Théoden King and betrothed to Boromir of Gondor. I have come from Gondor to see my brother and sister as well as my uncle." The two men looked at each other.

"I remember you as a child. It has been years since you have been in Edoras, has it not?" the other asked. Emilyn nodded. "I'm afraid you will find it no longer the place you remembered," he said grimly. "These are dark days." Reluctantly stepping aside, they let the small party into the city.

Everything in her beloved Edoras was just as Emilyn remembered, and memories of her childhood flooded back to her- playing in the stables with Éowyn, Éomer teaching her to ride, her and Éowyn trying to hide and sneak up on their brother and cousin, which they were never able to do. But as they road through the dusty streets towards the Golden Hall she realized that something was, as she had feared, very wrong.

The misgivings she'd had before leaving Minas Tirith had grown as they neared the city, only to be confirmed by the men at the gate. Now, looking at the faces of the people, she knew that something was amiss. There was heaviness in the air, an unspoken fear. Looking to the guards behind her, Emilyn knew that they sensed it as well.

Emilyn and the guards gave their horses over to the stablemen who watched them curiously, but said little. She looked over the faces of the men working silently in the stables. A young boy, not any older than fifteen, caught her eye and Emilyn smiled for the first time since her arrival. She approached him as he was leading a pony out of a stall.

"Does Halda still run the stables?" she asked walking beside him and running a hand down the pony's back. The boy stopped and shook his head slowly.

"No, my lady, he died last year." The boy smiled sympathetically, seeing that the new brought her pain.

"What about the riders? Are Lord Éomer or Prince Théodred in the city?" the boy shook his head again.

"No, they left two weeks ago and haven't been back since. We've had no word on when they should return." Emilyn stood silently as the young man left, leaving her to mourn what her beloved home had become.

"Are you alright, Lady Emilyn?" one of her guards asked.

Emilyn shook her head. "I need to see my uncle."

They made their way to the Golden Hall where the mood was, if possible, even more somber. She recognized Háma, one of her uncles' most trusted advisors and Doorward, who was speaking to two members of the Royal Guard. As he saw them approach he turned, and while there was a bit of anxious relief at the site of her in his eyes, his face and stern demeanor told a different story.

"Lady Emilyn," he said keeping a watchful eye on the armed Gondorian solders standing protectively behind her. "It is good to have you back in Edoras."

"What has happened to this place, Háma? Is there not a single bit of happiness here anymore?" Emilyn asked hoping for some answers. The man remained silent, reluctant to say anything. "I want to see my uncle," Emilyn said forcefully, tiring of being treated as a stranger in her homeland.

"One moment, Lady Emilyn." Háma bowed and entered the Golden Hall. For an instant she considered running after him and forcing her way to her uncle, but given the circumstances decided it best to wait as instructed. Minutes later, another man emerged from the doors, Háma following a few steps behind. Dressed all in black with dark, greasy hair, skin so pale and deathly it seemed that the man had never seen the light of day. He looked Emilyn over with an odd, penetrating stare, immediately putting her on guard. She did not like this man. She did not trust him.

"May I help you?" he asked, his voice sickeningly sweet had an edge of cruelty about it, as if he was a cat playing with a mouse before devouring it. This man was not arrogant like Denethor, and Emilyn was put off her guard as to how she should deal with him. The steward was all pomp and she knew how to stand up for herself. This man was different. He was a snake who could change his mood and approach as the occasion called for it. Mustering whatever courage she could she stepped towards him.

"I demand to see my uncle immediately," she said realizing too quickly that this approach would not have any effect on him.

The man paused, reflecting. "We received no word that visitors were expected," he said. "This is quite out of the ordinary."

Emilyn was at a loss. This man was not going to let her see her uncle, and no amount threats would gain her entry. She wished now that she'd insited Boromir come in order so that he could intimidate the slight, greasy little man. Taking a deep breath, she was trying to decide what move to make when a woman's voice behind her made her turn.

"Emilyn!" the voice called. Emilyn turned and saw her older sister running towards her. Éowyn hadn't changed a bit. Her long, dark blond hair still fell in waves over her shoulders and her face still held a strength that Emilyn had always longed for. Emilyn could threaten with words, but Éowyn had the courage to take action. Tears came to both sister's eyes as they embraced.

"Éowyn," Emilyn said sounding like a frightened child. "Who is this man?"

"We mustn't speak now," she whispered. "I will tell you all in private." She smiled and ran a hand over Emilyn's hair. "It's good to have you here." Taking her younger sister's hand Éowyn led her to the door of the Golden Hall.

"Let us pass, Grima," Éowyn demanded. "My uncle will want to see his niece." Emilyn noticed the change in the man's demeanor as her sister spoke. He seemed to hold his head a little higher and a bit of the biting sarcasm was gone from his eyes, replaced by what Emilyn could only describe as admiration and longing.

"Dear lady," Wormtongue said calmly. "The King is in no state for visitors."

"Then perhaps my sister's presence will revive him," Éowyn responded cutting him off and daring him to step aside. The man did so and the doors to the Golden Hall were opened. Éowyn held tightly to her sister's hand and whispered. "Have courage, sister, our uncle is greatly changed."

Emilyn stopped when the light fell upon her uncle, Theoden King, and she saw what he had become. Éowyn gently pulled her forward and the two knelt in front of his throne. Her uncle seemed to have aged fifty years, his hair had white, and hanging raggedly around his shoulders. His face was drawn with wrinkles and hidden behind a shaggy, unkempt beard. His entire body had changed. The once proud shoulders were slumped over and he now seemed barely able to hold his head up.

"Uncle," Éowyn said softly, taking his hand. "Your Emilyn is here. She has come to see you in your time of need. She has brought you strength and love to help make you strong again." Unable to choke back the tears, Emilyn kissed her uncle's hand, letting her tears fall onto his gray skin.

"I have missed you, uncle," she said. "I am grieved to see you so ill. What can I do to take this burden away from you?"

Suddenly the doors to the Golden Hall burst open, startling all in the room as Prince Théodred and Éomer, Third Marshall of the Mark, entered the hall. Leaving the king's side, Wormtongue rushed towards the two warriors trying, in vain, to convince them to leave. Ignoring the man completely, Théodred marched to his father's throne and knelt on one knee.

"My lord," he said, addressing his father. "There is trouble brewing near Isengard. We have seen orcs coming and going near the river. You must allow us to investigate further and cut off this threat to our land before it overpowers us. To make matters worse, four more villages have been attacked by wild men; our troops barely arrived in time."

Wormtongue hurried back to the king's side as the patriarch began to mumble. Wormtongue nodding as Théoden spoke, seemingly the only one in the room who could understand him. "The King orders that you keep your distance from Isengard. Keep your eyes on your own lands." Théodred glanced to his cousin, a look of utter frustration on his face.

"My lord," Éomer said, stepping forward. "Do you understand what you are saying? Do you wish for orcs and wild men to run free over our lands? We simply want to protect our people."

With great effort, Théoden raised his head and leveled his glassy eyes at his nephew. "Leave them," the King said in a ragged voice.

Théodred stood. "Father," he began, but Wormtongue spoke, not allowing him to finish.

"Why do you doubt the King's wisdom? Let him be. He is tired and troubled in too many ways to be bothered by this nonsense." Théodred gave the man a threatening stare, but turned and left, Éomer following behind.

Leaving Éowyn at her uncle's side, Emilyn ran after her brother.

"Éomer!" she called, catching up to them as they headed back to the stables to see to their men and horses.

"What are you doing here?" he asked walking quickly, not even glancing down at her. "It is not safe, can't you see that?" Emilyn took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"I demand some answers, Éomer. What has happened here? This is not the Edoras I left."

Éomer looked down to his sister. "The old way of life forsook this place when evil began to take over. It's that Wormtongue," he said lowering his voice. "Everyone's afraid to say it, but I will. He has poisoned the King's mind. He has caused fear and doubt to enter the hearts of the people. There is a darkness building. An evil is gathering, and I look to Isengard as the cause." A chill ran through Emilyn. She had never seen her brother so angry, so frightened.

"You have to leave," he said. Emilyn began to protest, but Éomer took her arm in his strong grasp. "Go back to Minas Tirith. You will be safe there- protected. I don't want to see you lost to this place." There was fear in his voice. This was not the way her brother reacted, even in the face of danger. It was not in him to run.

Turning, Éomer addressed one of the guards who had followed after the young woman, afraid to let her out of their sight. "Take her back to Minas Tirith first thing in the morning." Droman nodded as Théodred joined them.

"The men are ready to leave at once," Théodred said, coming to Éomer's side. He smiled sadly to his youngest cousin. "Listen to your brother, Emilyn. You will be safe with the steward and his sons." Nodding reluctantly, Emilyn wasn't completely certain that was true.

Pulling her to him, Éomer held her face close to his. "We will fix this, I promise. Rohan will be strong again." With that he pulled himself away and followed his cousin to the men, ready to ride off again in pursuit of a nameless enemy.

Emilyn woke with a start, sitting up in bed suddenly, not exactly sure what had caused her to wake. She peered into the darkness of her room not sensing any immediate threat, but her heart was pounding in her chest. Pushing back her covers, she crawled out of bed, opening the heavy wooden shutters and letting the cool, sweet breeze that swept over the fields of Rohan into her room. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the dream that had startled her so.

Unable to remember and not wanting to return to bed, Emilyn decided to talk a walk. She opened the door to her room slowly, looking to see if anyone else was about. Softly lit candles lined the hallway giving it a sleepy look in the few hours before dawn. She began to walk down the hall when she the eerie suspicion that someone was behind her.

"Are you unable to sleep, lady Emilyn?" came the devious voice slithering out of the darkness.

Turning, Emilyn found Wormtongue standing in front of her, a look of feigned sympathy on his face.

"It has been too long a day and sleep eludes me tonight," Emilyn said, backing up a step in order to put a bit more distance between them.

"Perhaps," he said, as if he were truly concerned for her, "you miss your other home. Perhaps something worries you."

Not knowing what he was getting at, Emilyn shook her head." Gondor is in safe hands, and I have no fear for those I left behind."

Wormtongue nodded. "That is best. I doubt any real threat would come to them. After all, Osgiliath, is heavily defended." Coldness began to seep into Emilyn's bones as he spoke. A fear she couldn't name, but very familiar, began to creep back into her mind. She suddenly saw in front of her the dream that had woken her. It was a picture of Osgiliath in flames. She saw men falling, a deep red shadow over the city. She heard the heartless, evil laughter again and could feel death as if it were touching her.

"Are you unwell, my dear? You grow so pale." Wormtongue stepped close to her and laid a thin hand on her shoulder. Reaching into her robe, Emilyn grabbed the knife Boromir had given her and pressed it against the man's chest as he came too close to her. There was an awkward moment of silence as Wormtongue froze and took a step back.

"Don't come near me," she hissed. What do you know? What danger is Gondor in?" she demanded, the knife moving to his throat.

Frightened, Wormtongue backed towards the wall and held his hands up in defense. "I know nothing of Gondor. I simply express my concern for the land you so obviously care for."

Emilyn didn't believe him. "My brother is right. You are evil. He won't let you get away with this for long," she said, holding back her fear. "Your days are numbered,"

"We shall see, won't we?" Wormtongue said coldly before he slithered back down the hall. Emilyn watched until he was gone, refusing to let him see her run, but run she did, all the way back to her room, bolting the door and waiting anxiously for the first signs of sunrise.


	16. Reluctant Allies and a Son's Duty

Oh, I love that one of my favorite characters makes an appearance in this chapter. If only I could do more with him. If you ever get a chance, read "Captured Heart". It is an amazing story.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Sixteen: Reluctant Allies and a Son's Duty**

Emilyn stared into the small campfire off of the Great West Road that one of the guards had made while they rested for the night. Days of traveling, along with the sleepless night before in Edoras was finally beginning to take its toll on the party.

"Lady Emilyn," Droman said kneeling in front of her and disrupting her thoughts. "Get some rest. I will keep watch. The Captain-General will be most displeased if we bring you back in any condition worse than he left you," he added with a smile, a bit of worry evident in his face as well. Nodding, Emilyn laid down on the soft grass under the canopy of trees hiding the stars and the clear night sky.

As soon as her eyes closed the dream began again. Osgiliath was in flames, huge boulders tearing apart its magnificent towers. She saw men falling while a dark figure looked on with grim satisfaction. The scene then changed to a place she had only been once in her stay at Minas Tirith- the House of Stewards, where the spirits of those long past rested for all time. There were bundles of wood surrounding a stone slab, and members of the guard held lit torches, ready to ignite the pyre. The men lowered their torches and flames rose to the ceiling. As she watched she caught a glimpse through the flames of whose body was lying amidst the wooden bundles now engulfed in flames. Emilyn sat upright with a gasp.

"Faramir!" she whispered as a hand covered her mouth. Her breath came quickly and she tried to forget what she had seen. Slowly, she adjusted to her surroundings and struggled against the arm holding her tightly and the hand clasped on her mouth.

"You must calm yourself, or they will see you," the voice behind her whispered. Not recognizing the voice, Emilyn struggled again, but in vain. It was then she realized that the fire had gone out and the forest was eerily quiet. Looking out into the darkness, she saw figures moving beyond the trees. "Orcs," the stranger said. "They've been tracking you for hours. When I tell you, I want you to run behind us one hundred feet. You will find three horses. Run as fast as you can and make no sound."

They held still for a moment longer, both of them watching the forms in the darkness. The stranger took his hand from her mouth and let out a shrill whistle, piercing the quiet forest and attracting the attention of the orcs. The creatures began moving towards them.

"Go, now!" the man said, standing and pushing her in the direction he'd instructed her to run. Emilyn heard the unmistakable sound of arrows being released and the inhuman screams of the orcs as they fell. She found the horses in the shadows ahead of her, along with a human figure, bow drawn and at the ready. Seeing her coming towards him, he grabbed her arm, pushing her to the ground and out of harm's way in case the battle came closer to them. Four orcs came running into the clearing and the man stepped forward, firing quickly and taking care of each in record time.

Stepping into the moonlight, he searched for any others, listening carefully for sounds from the forest. The man was tall and wiry, but powerful. Long blond hair, white in the moonlight, fell past his shoulders and small braids, holding his hair back, revealed the unmistakable pointed ears of an elf. Emilyn's amazement was quickly replaced by concern for Droman and his guards. She listened carefully, watching the elf, the grace and beauty of the creature captivating, even under these horrid circumstances.

There was another whistle from in the trees and two more elves walked into the clearing, coming out of nowhere in the darkness, but each seeming to shine with an inner light. Emilyn, still backed up against the trunk of a nearby tree as they began to speak, fascinated. She realized then that these were warriors, not the creatures mythic creatures of which stories were told.

"Er in phin? -Were they the same ones?" the elf who had been near the horses asked. He was slightly smaller next to the others, but just as powerful.

A regal elf, obviously the leader, spoke, "Ú-brested.- yes." Emilyn recognized his voice and watched him, even though she didn't understand a word he said. "Gernir sin.-They had these." He handed the other elf a pair of long daggers. "Ú-ben er dhagnir 'waur, mebir vaich. –Not only are they filthy murderers, they are thieves as well," he said, spitting out the strange words angrily. There was no mistaking his disgust, no matter what the language.

"Man presta in edain? –what of the humans?" the smaller asked.

"Gwannen. –dead," the leader responded quickly. "I 'wenn? –the girl?" he asked. The smaller one nodded to where Emilyn sat. She suddenly felt their eyes turn towards her. "As amarth ant ammedirnir den, egor e dangen sui ren. As ban vaer tellim si, athen.- It is a gift of fate they didn't see her, or she would have been killed as well. It's a good thing we came when we did, for her sake." One of the others, closely resembling the smaller one, stepped to the leader's side.

"Cerim man athen? –what do you plan on doing with her?" he asked, the tone evident in his voice, though Emilyn knew not what he said.

"Av'iston, e firiel arod garo an maethyr o Gondor gored na den. Cenitham ad pedin athen. –I don't know, but she must be a person of some importance to have four Gondorian soldiers riding with her. We shall see after I speak with her."

The leader handed the long bow that hung on his back over to the elf next to him and walked to where Emilyn was doing her best at making herself invisible. He knelt down to where she sat watching him cautiously. "You are lucky to be alive, young one," he said with a slight smile, trying to put her at ease.

Straightening herself, Emilyn raised her chin so as not to appear weak or small in front of the imposing creature.

"Where are my men?" she demanded, unable to keep the concern from her voice. The elf's eyes darkened and lowered his head.

"They are dead. The orcs came just before we arrived. We have been tracking them for day, waiting for an opportunity to slay them. When we arrived they were getting ready to camp. Because of where we found your men's bodies we can assume that they heard the beasts coming and, thinking they were few in number, could easily take them. But these orcs were unusual, with strength uncommon for even the best trained human soldier."

"Why were you tracking them?" Emilyn asked, not realizing until then that her voice was shaking.

The elf's face grew stern with a carefully hidden anger. "They killed five of our wardens on the borders of Lórien." Realizing that he had become distracted and had not yet introduced himself, the elf put a hand to his chest in greeting. "Forgive me, lady, for not introducing myself; I am Haldir, March Warden of Lórien." He bowed his head politely and turned to the others and motioned to the smallest of them. "That is my brother Rumil, and my brother Orophin," he said motioning to the other. "If you do not mind my asking, what are you doing in the wilderness? These are not the times for wandering."

Emilyn braced herself, finding the March Warden a person who might be able to help her. "I am Emilyn, niece to Théoden King and betrothed of Boromir, Captain- General and heir to the Steward of Gondor." Emilyn watched as Haldir took in the information. "I must get back to Minas Tirith. I am afraid that something horrible is about to happen." She knew the words flew out of her mouth too quickly to make sense, but she didn't know what else to do. She was desperate.

Haldir considered her for a minute. "Orophin!" he called. The other elf approached and Haldir spoke to him in their language. "In phaid nan harad na i Anorian? –How are the trails to the south of Anorian?"

"Lastannem siniath uin rendir. Istach man, muindor? – We have received few reports from the rangers of late. May I ask what you are planning, brother?"

"E gwanun Théoden. Tegim den Minas Tirith. –She is Théoden's niece. We must return her to Minas Tirith."

"Haldir, gerim coren bennim ceri. Hiril Galadriel aníratha ven teli, si. Thia bellas far. Ennas faer vaer ned sereg dîn. Annatham den roch, Radatha. –Haldir, we've accomplished what we set out to do. Lady Galadrield will want us to return, especially now. She seems strong enough. There is a hearty spirit in her blood. We will give her a horse. She can find her way."

"A ae nad presta athen, naegratham. –And if anything happens to her, we will have been the cause."

"Haldir, ú-nuitha in cuil edain. –Haldir, let the humans look to their own matters." Orophun did not like the situation.

"Ú, -no," Haldir said, having made his decision. "Palan-degitham den sui gerim. –We will take her as far as we can." He turned back to Emilyn and offered her his hand. Taking it tentatively, Emilyn stood, brushing a stray curl from her face in her nervousness. "Come," he said. "You will ride with me."

They rode the rest of the night, Emilyn sitting comfortable in front of Haldir as the trio of horses raced south. Emilyn found herself nodding off occasionally out of sheer exhaustion, but she forced herself awake, not wanting her dreams to return.

"We will rest soon," Haldir said. "As soon as we are past Firien Wood."

A couple of hours later, they stopped along a small pond to rest the horses. Haldir helped Emilyn off the large animal he rode and Emilyn walked towards the water, her body aching and her mind numb from the past few day's events. The morning sun was rising, turning the early sky red. Emilyn splashed some cool water on her face and looked into the sunrise.

"My brother always said that a red sky means blood will be spilled," she said to the warden standing behind her, his eyes busy searching the distant trees for any type of threat.

"Your brother is a warrior. I have heard of his courage." Haldir sat down next to her. "You are concerned for someone."

Emilyn stared into the pond's edge, not seeing the lilies and willows that made the shoreline their home, but Faramir's face in front of her. She nodded. "I saw him in my dream," she said looking up to the elf next to her. "He was injured...dead."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," she said with uncertainty. "No," she sighed. "It was a dream, but..."

"We will be there soon, Rohîriel. I promise."

"Rohîriel, what does that mean?" Emilyn asked, trying to take her mind off of her worries and following Haldir back to the horses.

"It means daughter of a horse lord," Haldir said getting into one of his saddlebags and handing her what looked like a small piece of square bread. "Eat a bite. It will fill your stomach." Emilyn took it gratefully.

"Gandalf told me many stories of elves, but I never expected this."

Haldir raised a brow in her direction. The girl knew Mithrandir! She must be important indeed. These were strange times, full of strange surprises. "Humans aren't always like they are in tales either," he answered.

"Haldir," Orophin called, motioning that they were ready to continue and mounting his horse.

"Come, it has been many years since my people have stepped in these lands, and our stay here must be brief."

They moved quickly along the base of the mountains and traveled once more until nightfall. The brothers would speak back and forth in their language, Emilyn enjoying the rich, graceful words she didn't understand, finding that there was a peace in them. They made a small camp under a shelter of stone and it was decided that Rumil would take the first watch while the others rested for a few hours. Anxious about growing closer to Osgiliath, Emilyn found sleep hard to come by. She must have dozed off for a time, for when she woke, she saw Haldir sitting next to the small fire, watching something in the distance that only he could see.

"Mordor has attacked," he said, sensing her behind him. Emilyn walked to his side, but saw nothing in the starless sky.

"Do you think Osgiliath be taken?" she asked.

"No," Haldir said without hesitation. "The race of men is strong. We of the Eldar forget that sometimes. I have fought beside men before and they have a courage and passion that we elves lack at times. Osgiliath will not fall, though many lives will be lost. The power of Mordor is not to be taken lightly, andI fear this is only the beginning." Emilyn shuddered as a cool breeze blew over her, bringing back the fear in her brother's voice, the dark laughter that haunted her dreams, the growing sense of despair that plagued her. No, this was not the end, and Emilyn knew she would face worse before it was over.

They rose before the sun was up and continued on their way, no one saying much of anything, the idle chatter of the brothers replaced with tense silence. About midmorning, Haldir stopped his horse suddenly and held a hand up. Listening for a moment, he motioned to his brothers. They moved the horses out of sight and Haldir held up a hand,telling Emillyn to stay down while he, Rumil, and Orophin, readied their bows.

The air grew quiet and in a matter of minutes men in dark green, hooded capes carrying quivers and bows began to pass by, moving quickly.

"Dúnedain o Ithilien. -Rangers from Ithilien," Haldir said to Orophin. "In edai cân gwith. -The men have called for reinforcements." Emilyn moved to hurry towards them, but Haldir grabbed her by the arm, stopping her.

"Not yet. It is difficult, but you have to be patient. You will only cause more pain if you rush into the midst of battle. We will be there soon enough."

Emilyn nodded, knowing to trust him.

"Maethathal? -Do you plan on fighting?" Orophin asked. Haldir shook his head solemnly.

"Ú ai av'aníron. -Not if I can help it."

They took a rode near Amon Din for the purpose of not reaching Minas Tirith or Osgiliath too soon. Haldir knew that the young woman under his care would, upon their arrival, most probably throw all caution to the wind and search for the person she was so desperately concerned for, not caring whether a battle was raging or not. They began to see heavy smoke rising from the south by midmorning and once again the party fell silent. Emilyn was especially tense and anxious as she watched the clouds of smoke rising in the distance change from dark gray to chalky white. Her stomach dropped when the ancient city of Osgiliath finally came into view. Most of the city's towers and beautiful spires were in ruins. Small pillars of smoke and dust rose from the ashes.

As they stood overlooking the city, a distant sound filled the air and rose from the recently besieged city. Emilyn let out a heavy sigh of relief when she realized that they were the cries of victory. Dismounting, Haldir handed the reins to her.

"This is as far as we go. I hope you find those you love safe." He bowed his head to her. "Until we meet again, Rohîriel."

"Thank you," Emilyn said, bowing her had in return. "I wish I could repay you for all your kindness."

"Don't do anything foolish," the March Warden said with a slight smile. "I have a feeling you're fate is connected with what is coming. Keeping yourself safe will be payment enough."

"I promise," Emilyn said with a nod. Kicking her heels, the horse beneath her jumped forward and rushed towards Osgiliath.

Emilyn entered the city gates, watching the soldiers as they carried out bodies of both man and orc. She couldn't help but look at the faces of those slain, her heart pounding for fear of whose she might see. When she was close to the main square a crowd of soldiers, at least a thousand strong, filled every corner. She studied the men's faces, looking for some indication of how bad the fighting had been. They were tired, that much was evident. It had been a long siege with little rest. But underneath the dirt and the blood there was pride, and inner nobility. They had defeated the enemy, and if they did it once, they could do it again. They were men of Gondor.

Pushing her way through the crowd, she hoped to find one of Gondor's sons. There was a cheering of applause. Everyone was calling Boromir's name. Emilyn stopped, looking to where the men did and saw Boromir, the flag of Gondor in his hand, majestically dressed in his armor, standing atop a fallen tower.

Emilyn was overcome with pride when she saw him, her fear replaced by joy. But soon after, a stab of guilt shot through her heart. She had been so worried for Faramir, she hadn't considered what might have happed to her future husband. What if he had been killed? He was a brave man, a daring fighter, but not immortal. For the first time, Emilyn realized that. She could not only have lost one, but two men she loved dearly. She looked back up at Boromir as he began to speak.

"This city was once the jewel of our kingdom, a place of light, and beauty, and music. And so it shall be once more." Cheers erupted from the crowd. "Let the armies of Mordor know this, never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands. This city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed...for Gondor!" the men caught up the chant and cheered.

He was in his element. Emilyn knew Boromir would always be a soldier and always serve his country and his people, even if it led straight to death. Emilyn watched him listening to the crowd, and prayed that he wouldn't face that for a long time.

The men began to disperse and Emilyn tried to find her way to Gondor's Captain-General. Through the crowd of excited soldiers she could see Boromir and Faramir engaged in conversation, laughing and patting each other on the back for a job well done. Her heart leapt when she saw Faramir laughing. He was safe. She tried to be polite and not force her way through the groups of men. She called for Boromir, but he didn't hear her over the sounds of celebration. Managing to move a few feet, she broke through some of the crowd only to see Denethor embrace his eldest son and lead him away.

Frustrated, she looked for a way to get free of the crowd. Seeing her chance in a small side alley, she ran, following the cobbled pavement to where it ended behind Faramir, watching anxiously after his father and brother.

"Faramir!" she called running and embracing him tightly. "You're safe." She smiled up at him, touching his cheek. "I was so worried." She hugged him again. Faramir, beside himself, held onto her, treasuring her next to him. It had been too long since they'd had a moment like this, and after the battle he'd just endured, he wasn't going to pass it up.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, pushing her back a bit so he could see her. "You are supposed to be in Edoras."

"I couldn't stay. There is too much to tell right now, but you are here," she touched him to be certain, "and you're safe."

"Of course I'm safe," he said smiling at her. He was about to add something when Boromir's voice made her turn.

"My place is here with my people, not in Rivendell," he said angrily. Emilyn could see Boromir was deeply disturbed about something, his head down as he turned to his own thoughts.

"Would you deny your own father?" Denethor asked, not giving him a choice.

Emilyn stepped aside as Faramir moved forward. "If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead."

Denethor turned to his youngest son. "Oh I see, a chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality." His face drew into an evil smirk. "I think not," he said, enjoying humiliating his son. "I trust this mission only to your brother, the one who will not fail me." He turned and noticed Emilyn watching him. "Well, look who has returned to us," he said happily, his mood changing in an instant. Boromir looked up in surprise, concern marking his face when he saw his future wife.

"Emilyn," he said, confused. Emilyn didn't give him a chance to say more, running into his arms, she closed her eyes as he held her and kissed the top of her head. "What are you doing here?" he whispered. "Is everything well?"

Emilyn shook her head. "I shall explain later."

"Look at this," Denethor said, putting his arms around the two of them and halting their conversation. "What a proud day for Gondor." A broad smile shone on his face.

Emilyn, not used to this kind of treatment from the old man, looked to Boromir for an explanation. He simply shook his head and looked away from his father's gaze.

"This is our future," Denethor said looking directly to Faramir, "Here. It makes a man proud."

"Father, please, not now," Boromir said, disgusted. Pulling Emilyn to his side, he backed away from the steward. Unconcerned, Denethor gathered his robes and readied himself to leave.

"Well, I will leave you to say your goodbyes." Before leaving he turned and spoke again to his eldest. "Remember what I said, it rests on you now. Make Gondor proud."

Boromir searched for the words to reply. "I will not forget, father."

With a satisfied nod, Denethor left, leaving both sons in silence.

Emilyn looked to Faramir who smiled sadly and turned to leave. She took Boromir's hand.

"Boromir," she said softly. "What were you speaking of? What has made you so upset?" Boromir led her to a deserted room, making certain they would not be disturbed and have some privacy.

"He's sending me to Rivendell." Boromir said pacing the floor, extremely agitated. "A meeting has been called and I must go. It is my duty," he said bitterly. He stopped and turned to Emilyn. "I don't want to do this. I want to stay here...with you." He took her hand and pulled her close to him holding her face in his large hands. His gray eyes searched hers, seeming to apologize in advance for what was to come. "I want so much for us," he said, his voice a fierce whisper. "We will have it when I return. I promise." Emilyn closed her eyes as he kissed her.

"I must go," Boromir said tearing himself away from her.

"Now?" Emilyn asked, following him towards the door. "Can't you wait till morning?"

Boromir turned. "If I don't go now, I will refuse to go at all."

Holding Emilyn one last time, he smiled sadly as he pushed a lock of hair from her face. "I will return soon, little one, I promise."


	17. Hidden Truths

Chapter Seventeen: Hidden Truths

Life became somewhat routine in the weeks after Boromir left. For a time it seemed as if, in fact, Mordor had fallen back into silence, but many knew that it was only the eye of the storm. The steward was not often to be seen, and when he was, all around found him to be extremely disagreeable and troubled. Faramir continued to guard what was left of Osgiliath and make weekly reports to his father, an event that was always humiliating, especially for the disheartened young captain. Denethor found any way possible to paint his youngest son in an ill light.

Emilyn treasured Faramir's weekly visits. She would ride out halfway to meet him and the two would spends hours riding and talking. Faramir would tell her stories of he and his brothers' adventures when they were younger. Emilyn missed both brothers dearly, and was surprised at how lonely the city could seem without either of them there.

No word had come from Boromir, and Emilyn grew anxious for his return. Rivendell was far, but he would have been back by now if they had settled whatever matters needed to be dealt with and went their separate ways. She worried that something else was at stake. Faramir seemed to know more, but said little. Whenever Emilyn did manage to see him, she could tell he was tired. A heavy weight rested on his shoulders while his brother was away, and his father gave him no mercy.

But the calm could not last. As summer turned to fall, and fall turned to winter, the echoes of war began to build in the chilly air. Everyday more reports poured into Osgiliath from the rangers who had seen hundreds of orcs, Easterlings, and Haradrim entering the black gate. The sky to the east was full of dark clouds and red fire that could be seen, and felt, from the White City itself. Faramir was forced to send more men to guard the river and lost many in skirmishes with orcs. The men's spirits, along with their number, were dwindling. On more than one occasion, Emilyn rode towards Osgiliath to meet Faramir, only to find he was unable to get away.

Emilyn spent a great deal of time worried about her homeland as well. She sent letters to her sister and brother, but received none in return. She could only assume that they had been intercepted. The world was falling into darkness, and she wondered how much longer they would last.

It was mid-February when Emilyn rode into Osgiliath late one chilly morning, dismounting inside the city and pulling her heavy cloak closer around her shoulders. She ran a leather-gloved hand down her hose's neck praising it for the swift ride.

"May I take your horse, my lady?" a young soldier asked.

"Yes, please," she said taking off her riding gloves and untying a small bundle from her saddle. "Can you tell me where I can find Captain Faramir?"

"Yes, my lady. He's just beyond that gate speaking with Mablung and the other commanders."

"Thank you," she said with a nod, breathing in the cold air.

It had been a long time since it had been this cold in Gondor and a thin layer of frost still clung to the grass. Emilyn smiled, enjoying the feeling of the biting wind on her face. She saw Faramir speaking with the commanders, his face serious. Not wanting to interrupt she waited patiently, watching the river as the water lapped against the stones. She heard the men's voices breaking up and turned as they dispersed. Faramir smiled when he saw her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I brought you lunch," she announced, smiling happily, her cheeks pink from the cold.

"I shall have to thank the cooks," he said, a teasing glint in his eye.

"I did help," Emilyn said pretending to be greatly offended, "at least a little bit." Laughing, Faramir took her arm and they began to walk. He always enjoyed giving her a difficult time about not being learned in many of the things that common women were. "I really just wanted an excuse to come see you," she admitted. "You haven't been to Minas Tirith in almost two weeks, so I decided a little bit of Minas Tirith should come to you."

"I was actually planning on riding there this afternoon. I have some reports for father." A shadow passed over his face which was quickly replaced by a smile. "But I'm glad you're here. You can accompany me. It will help make the impending much more bearable." Emilyn laughed as he led her to a quiet spot by the Anduin to eat.

They sat and talked, eating the lunch that Emilyn had packed each enjoying the other's conversation. The sun began to warm the air. Emilyn laid her cloak aside, watching the water in front of her while Faramir mulled over the morning's meeting.

"Has there been any word?" Emilyn asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"No," Faramir said throwing a pebble into the river. "Nothing. We've heard nothing from Rivendell or anywhere near there.

"Do you think..."

"I don't know what to think," he said a little sharper than he meant to. He turned quickly to Emilyn, dark eyes turned down. "Emilyn," he said moving towards her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"I know," she said, glancing up at him. "I miss him too."

Faramir tossed the pebbles in his hand to the ground. "Come on," he said, standing and offering her his hand. "I'll race you to the city."

Emilyn smiled as he helped her up. "You'll lose you know," she said with a grin.

Faramir cocked his head to the side. "Then I shall do my best to lose honorably," he said, teasing. "Have you heard anything from Edoras?" he asked, knowing how worried she had been. He hated to admit it, but he was quite concerned as well. He had sent some riders to find out more, but they had not reported back until the week before. As it turned out, they had not been allowed to enter the city and had to return. "Perhaps I can have a rider try and find someone who will see a letter personally delivered to your brother."

"That would be wonderful," Emilyn said, her face hopeful. "Not knowing what is happening is worse than the fear of what probably is."

Faramir squeezed her hand. "I know, but we'll find a way to get through."

Dinner with the Steward of Gondor was an awkward affair. It was the first time in weeks that he had desired to dine with others and it probably would have been best if he'd not done so. He sat at the head of the table, not so much eating, but frowning at the food on his plate. Faramir's meeting with him had not gone well, per usual, and the tension between the two was obvious to any careless observer.

Faramir had told his father how they desperately needed more men, that after their losses at Osgiliath they simply did not have the manpower to defend the city if, and when, the next attack came. The steward would hear none of it.

"Your brother managed with less. Surely you can handle your men," was all he said.

Emilyn watched the two uncomfortably and tried to make pleasant conversation, but failed miserably. "Faramir, I read something in the library you might be interested in." Faramir raised his blue eyes to meet hers. "It was about the sword of Narsil, you had been looking for information on it a few years ago. I came across a book that said it now rests in Rivendell." She risked a glance at Denethor hoping he might share any information he had on his heir's whereabouts. The old man only frowned deeper.

"The elves may think they have use for ancient artifacts, but we do not. That sword is merely an empty dream of a line as broken as the blade itself," the steward mumbled. Faramir placed a piece of food in his mouth and ate silently, watching Emilyn as he did so.

"Do you believe there is no heir to the line of Isildur then, my lord?" Emilyn asked, not thinking before she spoke, and only realizing too late what dangerous water she had jumped into.

"There is no heir of Isildur," Denethor spat. "Gondor belongs to the line of stewards."

Emilyn ignored Faramir's warning glance. "But Gandalf said,"

"That old wizard knows nothing!" Denethor cried standing, his chair crashing to the hard marble floor behind him. "Did you learn this insolence from you uncle, or is it a trait particular only to sheildmaidens?"

"I simply asked a question, my lord. We do not hide from the truth in Rohan," Emilyn said, watching Denethor for a reaction.

"Rohan won't have to worry about the truth for long." He remarked coldly, turning to leave.

Standing, Emilyn hurried towards him. "What do you know?" she asked. "If you know something of my uncle, I demand you tell me."

Denethor slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. Stumbling to the side, Emilyn felt the pain in her cheek, bringing stinging tears to her eyes.

"Father!" Faramir yelled, rushing to Emilyn's side.

"I make the demands in my country!" Denethor shouted. "I will tolerate your insolence no longer. My sons may find your spirited nature amusing, but I find it an insult to your country. Women of Gondor know their place."

"That is enough, father," Faramir said, standing protectively in front of the young woman. Denethor moved his disgusted gaze to his youngest son.

"Defend her," he said, "but what, I wonder, will you do when your brother returns and marries the girl?" There was a sneer in his voice along with a hint of amusement. "Will you continue to pine away, or finally show some courage and put yourself out of misery?" Faramir stood unbelieving at his father's words as Emilyn stepped out from behind him. Fighting back the tears and anger that desperately wanted to be released, she moved towards the door, but Denethor's voice stopped her.

"That's right, run from the truth. Run and hide. You don't deserve my son."

Slowly Emilyn turned and glared at him. "You are a monster," she said, pity in her voice. "Your sons do not deserve you either." With that she turned and left, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

Faramir found Emilyn in the garden, sitting on a bench in front of a glassy pond. Without saying a word, he sat down next to her and put his arm around her. Laying her head on his shoulder, Emilyn sighed, wiping away a tear.

"He's right you know," she said quietly. "I don't deserve him. If I really loved him, I would love him and him alone." She raised her head and found her eyes meeting the soft blue of Faramir's. "But I don't just love him," she said barely above a whisper, her skin pale, her eyes dark in the moonlight. "Faramir," she said, her breath coming quickly and her mouth only inches away from his. "I will never forget. I can't. I will always..." Faramir leaned forward and kissed her, all of his longing and pain breaking through and finally finding peace. Pulling back, he held her cheek in his hand.

"I want you to go to Edoras. He is going to send me to Ithilien with the rangers. It is not safe for you here anymore. The darkness in the east grows...though Father will not admit it; you will at least be with your family there, and much safer for it." He paused before speaking again. "That way, if anything happens to me before Boromir returns you will be with your brother."

"Faramir, you can't..."

"No, it will be easier." He kissed her softly. "I don't want to have to lose you."

Early the next morning Faramir saw Emilyn's horse saddles and readied for the journey to Edoras.

"Do you have your knife?" he asked, fastening a sword onto the side of her saddle in case she needed it. Emilyn nodded. "I want you to take these as well." He handed her a bow and quiver full of arrows.

Emilyn smiled slightly. "I will be well armed."

Faramir looked at her, his expression serious. "Are you certain you want to go by yourself?"

"I'll move faster and bring less attention to myself." She squeezed his arm. "I will be fine." Faramir still didn't like the idea of her going alone, but he knew they had no other choice.

"Don't take any chances. If you sense danger, run." Emilyn smiled and looked to her things, but Faramir caught her chin and forced her to look at him. "Do not be afraid to kill." Emilyn nodded solemnly, a frightened knot growing in her stomach. "Be careful," he said, touching her cheek. "My brother would kill me if anything happened to you...I would kill myself if he did not."

Leaning forward, Emilyn kissed him, letting her cheek rest on his for a moment.

"Please take care of yourself," she whispered. She stood back and Faramir watched her for a moment, wanting very badly to take her in his arms. Emilyn smiled half-heartedly and turned. She was about to mount her horse when she took a deep breath and turned back to Faramir. She rushed to him and kissed him one last time, feeling the love in his embrace. "I will see you soon." Nodding, Faramir watched as she mounted her horse and rode away.


	18. Messages in the Wind

Chapter Eighteen: Messages in the Wind

Emilyn raced across the Pelennor fields towards the Great West Road at lightning speed. She felt both vulnerable and off-center in the open, wary of rogue orcs that might be travelling through the area, the memory of Lindel falling at the point of an orc's arrow still fresh.

She found it strange that she would be longing for the safety and security of the forest when, years before, she had spent a very uncomfortable and sleepless night there. But she knew that with each mile she covered, it would take her closer to her family.

It felt odd calling Edoras home now. It was the place of her people, something she could never erase, but she couldn't help feeling that her real home was fading quickly behind her, its white towers barely visible now.

The unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach remained as she reached the border of the Druadan Forrest hours later. With night falling, and her horse exhausted, she knew better than to try and press on till sunrise.

Taking the leather wrapped knapsack that Faramir had given her from her saddlebag, she examined the contents: dried beef, salted pork, a loaf of bread. She tried to force herself to eat, but couldn't. Anxiety was upon her, something in the air she couldn't name. Her horse felt it as well as he ate at some grass cautiously, a slight tension obvious in his flanks.

Emilyn tried to put the feelings aside as the moon rose, a cold breeze drifting through the trees. Leaning against the trunk of a large tree, she felt herself nodding off, dagger in hand, bow by her side in case trouble came. Her dreams were short and jumbled, filled with fear of what she would find in Edoras. Was her uncle still in ill health? Were her brother and sister safe? Would she have to face Grima Wormtongue again?

Her dreams then became full of strong arms and smiles from the Steward's sons. The love and peace suddenly replaced by anger and sadness and a host of other emotions spilling into darkness.

Then she heard it, a part of her dream at first, but then becoming very real. It was a soft sound, and Emilyn even doubted herself, but then it grew stronger, carried forward by a gust of wind. It was a sound she had never before heard, but one she knew instantly. It's mournful, frantic cry reverberating through every fiber of her being…the horn of Gondor…Boromir's horn. Something had happened. She knew it.

Waking in an instant, she tried to focus on the source and direction of the sound, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Panic was building, and Emilyn didn't know what to do. She couldn't go back to Minas Tirith on her own. She didn't want to face the Steward, not now. When she turned towards Eoras, her heart sank. She wasn't meant to be their either. She felt lost, abandoned. Her thoughts went to the one person who would need her now and she had to find him.

Gathering up her courage, and putting unwanted thoughts from her head, she mounted her horse in the early morning darkness and turned towards the Southeast…towards Ithilien.

Not knowing exactly where she was going, Emilyn moved her horse forward on instinct alone. She knew of certain places Faramir had mentioned where the Ithilien rangers were posted, but there were many miles between each. She knew she needed to find the stronghold of Henneth Annun and only prayed that they were there.

Emilyn frowned through her fatigue as the landscape changed, her horse having difficulty navigating the terrain. Pictures of what could be happening to Boromir flashed through her mind, difficult to dismiss. She saw him stabbed through, dead at the hands of his enemies, orcs surrounding him. She saw his strong body ravaged, and worse.

Without knowing it she had allowed her horse to slow to a walk. Breaking out of her daydream, she looked around, not completely sure where she was. Keeping her senses about her she turned the horse a bit where a path was clear and rode on. After a couple hours, Emilyn knew that she had gone too far in the wrong direction. The landscape was barren and an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, letting her know that something was wrong.

She heard a rustling in the brush to the left of her and turned her head quickly, laying a hand on the sword Faramir had fastened to her saddle. Pulling her horse to a stop, she listened carefully. The arrow flew past her, missing by barely a foot as three orcs came running out of the dense underbrush. Kicking her heels, Emilyn raced forward, ducking so that none of the arrows flying her way would find their target. One flew by uncomfortably close, but she rode on, ignoring the sharp pain that cut her arm.

She rode a couple of more hours, racing as fast as she could until both rider and horse were at the point of exhaustion. In the distance, framed by the late afternoon sun, Emilyn finally saw the waterfall of Henneth Anun, a beacon in the distance.

Knowing that her horse would never make the rest of the journey, she left him in a glade with plenty of grass and shade. Her arm was on fire with every movement, fabric and blood mingled together where the arrow had scraped her skin. Feverish, she tried her hardest to clean the wound with a little of the water she had and set off towards the cave.

Faramir was not happy with his current situation. He greatly disliked Ithilien. The drab wasteland was too close to Mordor and daily he had to command his men to kill in order to stop the hundreds traveling through the black gate every day. He also heard that orcs were growing in number beyond the walls of Mordor. He knew the day they would attack Minas Tirith was close, and if Boromir did not return before that, what then?

Faramir did not have faith that his father was fit to rule. He would not say as much, but had thought so for some time. Faramir knew that what his father was about to face would be his greatest challenge, and he feared that the steward was not up to the task. He was Denethor's son though, and he would do his duty, even if it meant giving his own life.

The afternoon sun had been hot and relentless in the mountains, the course shrubbery offering no protection or shade. Now he laid in the coolness of one of the caves, darkness all around him as he tried to clear his head from the days' troubles. Faramir had arrived at the fortress of Henneth Annun the night before. After a restless night, he had spent the day listening to report after report from his commanders about recent activity in the area. It was clear to him that things were not well, and would only get worse as the days and weeks wore on. His mind, only half listening to what they were saying, was focused elsewhere. He was concerned how Emilyn was fairing on her way back to Edoras, and deeply regretted sending her on her own.

In the brief, warm hours of the afternoon, he was finally allowed some peace and rest, lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling and trying to rest before he was needed again.

As many times before, he finally fell into a restless sleep. Dreams and pictures began to dance in front of him. His dreams had been dark of late, dreams of war and death, of fire and unseen evil. He dreaded sleep, but knew he needed it. This time though, the dream was different. He felt a peace he had never known before. He was happy, a sense of joy and delight came over him that he hadn't felt since he was a boy.

He was walking down a corridor in Minas Tirith that opened into a young garden. Soft mounds of black dirt cradled small plants and tiny buds. He heard laughter and looked down as a little boy of about five launched himself onto Faramir's legs and held on, hugging him tightly. He smiled, picking the youngster up, throwing him over his shoulder, and tickling him. The boy's short, sandy brown curls flying.

Faramir walked into the garden and set the boy on the ground as another, a couple years younger, toddled towards him. He was small and stocky with straight blond hair that fell over his face as he tripped. Faramir watched as Emilyn, who had been planting some flowers, hurried to the child. Wiping her hands on her skirts, she picked up the little boy, kissing his hands gently and then his cheeks to stop his crying. She brought him over to Faramir and the toddler stretched out his arms.

Faramir gave the boy a tight hug before letting him run off in search of another mishap. He was amused at how much the boy resembled Boromir, even down to the stern expression on his face. Emilyn smiled after her son and took a step towards Faramir. Standing directly in front of him, her dark blue eyes held relief, joy, and desire. She ran a hand through his hair and kissed him deeply. Pulling back she smiled. "I'm glad you're home."

Faramir woke from his dream quickly, not wanting it to end, but desperate to come back into reality. "She's not mine," he told himself, standing, the starkness of the cave bringing him back to the present.

"Captain."

Faramir's thoughts were interrupted when three of his men entered. Faramir turned to see what was needed, the disruption and the fact that both his commanders were there meant that it must be of great importance.

"My Lord Faramir, there is some trouble. You are needed," his commander, Damrod, said softly.

Looking at his two commanders stern faces and the concern on the young ranger's with them, Faramir nodded, quickly grabbing his weapons.

"We found her on our afternoon patrol," the young ranger explained, uncertain of what to say. It was such an odd situation, he didn't even know where to begin. No one but the Rangers roamed this area and to find someone, a woman, none the less, was very unusual.

"Her?" Faramir asked, stopping in his tracks, the confusion now his.

"Yes, my Lord," the Ranger nodded, continuing to lead them out of the cave and about half a mile down the mountain.

When they reached the site, there was a small circle of five rangers guarding over whatever it was they had found, each face etched with both curiosity and worry.

"We didn't want to move her until you arrived, my lord." The ranger then added in a whisper, "some of the newer recruits recognized her and knew you would want to be notified immediately."

A deep pain started at the nape of his neck as Faramir moved forward, the other rangers stepping aside to let him through. As if his worst nightmare was coming true, Faramir saw her. Lying in the course brown grass was Emilyn, a deathlike pallor on her face. Without a moment's hesitation he lunged forward, picking her up in his arms in one swift move.

"Quickly," he called to the men behind him, racing back towards the safety of the caves.


	19. A Thousand Unanswered Questions

I know this chapter is short, and I promise the next one will be longer. I'm at the point where movie and book and story are coming together. I hate to quote verbatim from the book and movie and I'm going to try my hardest to avoid that.

I'm soooo glad that everyone is enjoying this, and I promise you will keep doing so.

**Chapter Nineteen: A Thousand Unanswered Questions**

Faramir raced towards the mouth of the cave, his arms full, his heart pounding. What on earth had happened? Why was she here?

A couple of rangers had raced ahead, making a place for the King of Rohan's niece, placing their blankets on the hard, dirt floor. She was burning up with fever and Faramir didn't need to ask what the cause was.

Laying her down gently, he quickly searched for the wound. He let out a heartfelt sigh when he saw the scrape on her arm. Lightheaded with relief, he sat back, wanting to cry out with joy.

"It's just a scrape," he announced breathlessly with a relieved smile. "We'll need to make a poultice and draw out the poison." Reaching his hand out, a leather flask of water was placed in it, his men anticipating exactly what their captain needed.

Tearing her sleeve, and cleaning the wound as best he could, Faramir watched as her eyes twitched with pain, her head moving, unintelligible words coming out in feverish quickness.

"Emilyn," Faramir whispered closely. "Can you hear me?"

"Here's the poultice, Captain."

Faramir thanked the ranger and tied the cloth tightly across Emilyn's bicep, the pungent, earthy smell of herbs filling the air.

"She will need rest, my lord," came Damrung's voice behind him, a commander Faramir would trust with his own life. "With any luck, she'll be more conscious and doing better by morning."

Faramir nodded, only half listening. She would survive. Nothing else mattered. The whole of Mordor could come down upon them, but he would make certain she survived.

Faramir woke from his dream too upset to move. The horror and pain of what he'd seen too real to be anything else. His brother, Boromir, the prince of the White City – slain, set adrift in a boat, his sword in his hand, the weapons of his enemies at his feet. Feeling sick, Faramir rushed from the cave and wretched in the dry grass. The shadows of rangers on guard watched, but mercifully, said nothing. The night air was cold and refreshing, waiting breathlessly for the sun to rise.

Faramir knew that, from this moment on, nothing would ever be the same. He was the only one now, and his father would find blame in him for Boromir's death. The future that was Gondor's would fall into shadow, and all Faramir could do was wait for what was to come.

Thinking of Emilyn inside, his heart sank. He ducked back inside to check on her, placing a calloused hand on her forehead. The fever had broken in the middle of the night and she was now resting peacefully. It wasn't fair she had to live in a world on the brink of destruction. She deserved a world of peace, happiness, and it seemed that all he had done was destroy it all.

Faramir could feel the darkness and frustration growing in his heart as he made his way to the Anduin for some fresh air. He felt suffocated from the world falling around him. Bending down to splash some of the river's cool water on his face, Faramir sighed. If only Mithrandir were here. What he wouldn't give for some wisdom at this moment.

"My Lord Faramir," called a voice from above. "You're needed, Captain. Southrons on the move not far from here!"

Standing, he straightened his shoulders, a mountain of worry on them. He turned to return to the stronghold, but something caught his eye. There, halfway buried in the sand, lay the stark reality of his dream come to life…Boromir's horn, cloven in two.

Emilyn woke, dizzy and disoriented. Sitting up, looking at the gray stone surrounding her, recognition slammed back into her memory. Remembering why she had come and what she had heard in the wind, she looked around in a panic for someone…anyone. She wondered exactly where she was. The last thing she remembered was heading towards the waterfall of Henneth Annun. Hopefully, that's where she was now, and not prisoner to a band of orcs…or worse.

The sound of male voices caught her attention. She stood, steadying herself against the rock walls before taking a wavering step forward. One voice rose above them all, causing her heart to beat stronger, guiding her.

"What do you intend on doing with the prisoners, Captain?" asked one of the male voices before Emilyn entered the chamber where the men were gathered.

Faramir answered slowly. "I'm not certain yet. There's something they are hiding and I will find out what it is before making a decision that will allow them to leave."

There was something in Faramir's voice Emilyn had never heard before, something dark, something desperate. There was a deep sorrow there, almost as if he'd given up. It was then she realized that Faramir knew the truth. If she had heard Boromir's call, then Faramir had to have as well. Her line of thought abruptly ended as the men filed out of the chamber, a few of them glancing her way with a slight nod and sheepish grin.

"This is certainly an unexpected twist," a dark haired ranger mused as Emilyn entered. "Here we are looking for Southrons and come across two halflings…hobbits…is that what they called themselves?" Faramir, engrossed in the maps spread before him, said nothing.

"Lady Emilyn," the ranger said with a polite smile and bow. "We are grateful you are well. You gave the men quite a scare. The past two days have been full of more excitement then we are used to."

At the words, Faramir looked up, his eyes locking with hers, a hundred words unspoken.

Excusing himself, the ranger turned back to his Captain. "I will go check the supplies, my Lord."

The stone chamber was silent until the echo of the ranger's boots faded. Rushing to her, Faramir grabbed her gently, checking her wounded arm, making certain that she was alright. "Why would you come here?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "You could have been killed."

Emilyn wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him, telling herself that she wasn't going to cry. "I had to," she whispered, trying to hold herself in check. "I heard it," she sighed. "I heard it." Her voice was low, knowing she didn't have to explain.

Faramir held her at arm's length, his stormy eyes finding hers. "We must be strong now. Things will only be getting worse. We will get you back to the White City once it is safe. If there is anywhere safe anymore." Turning, he went back to his maps, refusing to meet her gaze, lost in his own thoughts, and wondering what secret had led two small hobbits into his path.


	20. Possessions, Passions, and Decisions

Grrr. I hope you understand where the shifts in action are. I have tried and tried to find a way to put them in, asteriks, hyphen, etc. but the fanfic publisher doesn't like them. So, any ideas would be appreciated. :)

I tried my hardest, and will continue to try my hardest and avoid copying dialogue straight from the book or movie, but sometimes...it is a necessity. Not that I mind watching certain scenes over and over just to get the words right ;)

Anyway, this chapter is much longer...hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty: Possessions, Passions, and Difficult Decisions**

"Do you think he suffered?" Emilyn whispered into the quiet cave, the only sound the waterfall in the distance. Laying on one side of the small rock chamber, Faramir sat next to her, but he could just as easily have been a lifetime away.

"I think he died valiantly," he answered, his voice distant.

Sitting up in the darkness, Emilyn faced him. Rays of moonlight coming through a cleft in the rock made its way inside the room, lighting up the unshed tears in Faramir's eyes. Watching him cradle the broken horn of Gondor in his hands, Emilyn could feel the pain and heartache he was feeling. She wished there was something she could do to ease his pain. Yes, she had loved Boromir in her own way, but it was nothing compared to how the youngest son of the Steward was feeling. Emilyn couldn't imagine the emptiness that would be left behind if she were to lose Éomer or Éowyn.

She thought of the strong, shining, Captain General of Gondor. The thought of him lying still and lifeless was foreign to her, absolutely inconceivable. She couldn't imagine a world without him, and she knew neither could his younger brother.

For the first time in all the years she had known him, Emilyn was afraid to touch Faramir. He was so withdrawn into himself, she didn't know how to help him. She started to reach for him, but drew back.

"What do we do now?" she asked, hoping that he would smile at her and everything would be back to normal. That his eyes would hold the same sparkle they always did, intelligence with a hint of secret amusement behind it. The slight smile she got in return was for her benefit only, shallow and untrue.

"We fight," he sighed, giving Emilyn another false smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We fight for Boromir and all that he held true." Reaching out, he took her hand, his fingers squeezing hers. "Get some rest," he whispered. "There is no telling what tomorrow will bring." Nodding wordlessly, Emilyn kissed his hand lay back down, somehow managing to find sleep.

Startled, Emilyn woke to a strange screeching. Looking around her in the moonlight and not seeing Faramir, she grew concerned. Jumping up, she ran towards the commotion, not expecting to find anything like the sight before her.

One ranger was holding a strange-looking, small, gray creature. Another ranger delivered blows to the creature while the other rangers stood by watching with a mixture of curiosity and horror. Emilyn saw Faramir, his back turned to the beating being handed out. She could see the tension in his shoulders. He wasn't one to use force and disliked it in all situations, leaving Emilyn to wonder why he was allowing the beating to continue.

The screaming lasted for a few more agonizing seconds until the Ranger Captain finally turned, ordering the rangers to stop. The creature, in a state of panic, retreated to a recess in the room rocking back and forth.

"Where are you leading them," Faramir demanded of the creature, stepping forward. "Answer me!"

In the eerie silence, the creature began a strange dialogue with himself, as if he were two people speaking, one hurt and confused, the other strangely comforting.

"I told you they was tricksy, I told you they was false," the creature said in sing-song. "They stole it from us," he continued, sobbing, his voice changing again.

Faramir took another step forward, just as confused and intrigued as everyone else in the room. "What did they steal?" he asked with an intensity Emilyn had never seen before.

Turning towards the stunned crowd of rangers watching, the grotesque creature turned, his eyes bulging. With sharp teeth drawn, he shouted in a raspy scream, "My precious!"

Everyone stood in shock for a moment, no one knowing what to do. Suddenly Faramir launched from the room, caught up in a sort of madness, lost in his own world. Emilyn followed behind him.

"What is happening" she asked, catchign up with the dark haired commander, Damrung.

"Some halflings we came across not far from here," he answered, pausing and letting some men pass, his voice hushed. "Evidently the other two…hobbits they are called…set out from Rivendell with Lord Boromir." Here he paused. "It appears that…"

"I know," Emilyn answered, not wanting to hear the words said allowed.

"There's something secretive about them," Damrung answered. "The Captain wants to know what it is that they are hiding."

What Emilyn saw in the next room astounded her even more. Two small, childlike creatures stood there, one looking tired and sickly, the other protective and ferociously mad. She watched as Faramir approached the dark-haired sickly looking one, sword drawn.

"So this is the answer to all the riddles," he said quietly, strangely. "Here in the wild I have you, two halflings and a host of men at my call." Faramir's sword pulled a chain from around the hobbits neck, a simple gold ring on the end. "The ring of power within my grasp. A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality."

Emilyn watched, concerned, this was not the Faramir she knew. For the first time ever, she was frightened of what he might do next.

The air was tense as all eyes watched what would happen next. Suddenly, the sickly looking hobbit grew pale, his eyes rolling back in his head ever so slightly. Then, with more force than thought, he swiped away Faramir's sword with his hand, grabbing the ring around his neck as if to protect it.

"Stop it!" Shouted the chubbier one, turning everyone's attention to him, and out of the strange spell they had all fallen under. "Don't you understand? He's gonna destroy it! We're going to Morder, to the mountain of fire!"

Faramir watched him intensely, not even breaking his gaze when another ranger entered the room breathlessly with a message.

"Osgiliath is under attack, they call for reinforcements," the ranger told his Captain.

"Please," the chubby hobbit begged, knowing that Faramir was still listening to him, hoping that he could change the Captain's mind. "It's such a burden, will you not help him?"

There was something about the hobbit that intrigued Emilyn, a passion that she found worthy of listening to, and found herself hoping that Faramir would do the same.

"Captain," the ranger asked, needing an answer to deliver back to Gondor.

Faramir broke his gaze with the chubby hobbit and turned to the ranger. "Prepare to leave. The ring will go to Gondor."

With his words, the entire camp of rangers seemed to move at once. Emilyn raced after Faramir, finally catching up with him.

"Faramir, what is happening?" she asked, grabbing his arm, forcing him to look at her. "What is this about?"

Faramir turned to her, a feverish intensity in his face. Taking her by the arms, he pulled her to the side. "This is it!" he said quickly. "Isildur's bane. That is what they are carrying. What Boromir went to Rivendell to see. What that hobbit carries is the 'one ring'". Faramir paused, catching his breath. "This could change everything. The walls of Mordor would crumble against such a weapon as this."

Emilyn had heard of the ring of power before, but only as a legend of sorts. If this was true, if Faramir was right and such a thing did exist, it could be dangerous, especially in the hands of Denethor. The Steward was unstable as it was, if he had something in his possession that could control everything he touched, that would prove disastrous.

"Faramir," Emilyn began, her concern obvious. "This is too dangerous. I don't think you've thought this through. Perhaps if you…"

Faramir stopped her, a strange passion in his eyes. "This is my chance to prove myself. For once," he said with passion, "I'll be worth something."

"This is not the way," Emilyn answered, but Faramir was gone, seeing to the men as they began the march towards Osgiliath.

The march towards Osigiliath was slow, the moon bright, lighting their way, but the terrain too difficult to pass through quickly.

Emilyn watched Faramir carefully, wishing she knew what he was thinking. If only he would stop for a moment so she could talk with him, give him a minute to think about what he was doing.

The prisoners were not faring well at all. The gray, gangling creature being led by the neck had not uttered a word in a couple of hours, while the dark haired hobbit, Frodo, she had learned, walked as if in a daze. Mercifully, Faramir ordered they stop for a moment, allowing everyone a few minutes rest.

Curious, Emilyn made her way to where the two hobbits rested and offered them some water from her canteen.

"What's your name?" she asked the protective, chubby halfling.

Looking up at her, the little man eyed her suspiciously. "Sam. Samwise Gamgee," he answered, taking a drink reluctantly and then handing the canteen to his friend. "And this is Frodo Baggins."

"You were there when Boromir died?" she asked, surprising herself with the question, hoping this little hobbit couldn't see through her.

Shaking his head, Sam sighed. "No, miss," he answered. "When we left, Boromir was well."

"I see," Emilyn said with a sigh, not really sure what she wanted him to have said. Yes, we saw him fall? Yes, he fought off a hundred of his enemy? No, it's not true, he's not really dead?

"Miss?" Sam asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"Emilyn," she answered, trying her best to give him a comforting smile.

"Miss Emilyn, you have to know that this is wrong. You must convince Captain Faramir to let us go. No good will come of this."

Emilyn looked at him. Nodding, she answered. "I know."

"Forward!" came one of the commander's voices, ordering them to begin again.

"I will do what I can," she answered, standing.

The sun was on the brink of rising when Osigiliath finally came into view, smoke rising from its dilapidated towers. Everyone stopped at the shock of seeing the beautiful city in ruins.

"What has happened?" Emilyn asked, stopping next to Faramir.

"You shouldn't be here to see this," he said, his face grim. With a wave of his arm, he motioned everyone forward. "We will win this," he said softly. "Gondor will have power again."

Ahead of him, the hobbit Frodo turned and looked back at Gondor's Captain. "The ring will not save Gondor. It only has the power to destroy. Please," he begged, no longer resigned but pleading for something more than just a simple battle, "let me go."

Faramir paused, doubt crossing his face, knowing in his heart of hearts that this decision was not sound. But then he thought of his father, of all the insults he had endured, of all the times he had felt useless. "Hurry," he said, ordering his men to move forward. Putting aside all doubts, he took a deep breath, refusing to look at the woman next to him, knowing he would change his mind if he did.

Inside the city, it was worse than Emilyn had imagined. She had never been in the middle of a battle before, and it was strange. There was no loud noise for the time being, just the occasional shout from a lookout, who would then order arrows to fly. Every few minutes large stones would crumble to the ground, causing everyone to look up and wonder where the next would fall.

Pulling her close to him and keeping her as safe as he could, Fararmir led them through the city, finally coming across Mablung, a welcome sight.

"Faramir," the commander said, relieved to see his Captain. "The orcs have taken the Eastern shore. By nightfall, we'll be overrun." Emilyn could see that most of the men had been up all night fighting.

Nodding, Faramir motioned towards the prisoners. "Take them to my father, and see that lady Emilyn is taken safely back to Minas Tirith." He paused, before finishing. "Tell him, Faramir sends a mighty gift, a weapon that will change our fortunes in this war."

Mablung nodded, confused, but following his orders, giving Emilyn a smile. They were about to move forward, when the hobbit Sam spoke up, moving towards Faramir.

"Do you want to know what happened to Boromir?" he asked angrily. "You want to know why your brother died?" Without waiting or caring for a reply, he continued. "He tried to take the ring from Frodo. After swearing an oath to protect him, he tried to kill him. The ring drove your brother mad!"

At that moment, the world around them seemed to explode. A large piece of stone, thrown by catapult crashed into a tower, showering debris down upon them, and a loud, heart-wrenching screech filled the air.

Before Emilyn had a moment to think, Faramir was shoving her towards Mablung, ordering him to get her to safety. Mablung's hands grabbed her arms and ushered her towards one of the reinforced areas of the city, but not before Emilyn saw what had caused so much fear to erupt. There in the sky, nearly blocking out the smoky sun was a huge black monster, wings that could cover forests, a screeching cry that sent fear down into the very marrow of her bones.

"Nazgul!" Faramir cried, his warning reaching all who could hear. Emilyn saw him race away from the safety and protection of the shelter. Chaos raced through her mind. She would not allow him to face this thing. Bolting from the grip of Mablung she raced after him, ignoring the shouts of the commander demanding her to come back. Working her way through crowds of archers and falling debris she finally found Faramir, shouting his name, refusing to let him out of her sight.

When she found him, she paused, not daring to interrupt him now. He had the creature in his sights, bow drawn, and arrow ready to fly. The beast, hovering above a stone outcropping caused by destruction, was about to devour the hobbit Frodo. The hobbit, led by some unseen force, was holding up the ring, offering it to the creature. Letting his arrow fly, it found its target in the chest of the monster, causing it to scream and fly away wounded.

Sighing, Faramir turned to Emilyn, shaking his head. "I can't," he said, defeated. "I don't know why I thought I could. That ring has been hidden away for centuries for a reason and I am not the one to bring about destruction with it. We will fight as men, not as monsters." Taking Emilyn's hand, he pulled her forward. "Come."

They made their way towards the area where the hobbit Frodo had been seen. When they reached them, Faramir found a small crowd of soldiers gathered. Quietly, he simply stood back, listening to their conversation, but his presence couldn't go unnoticed.

Backing away, unsure of what the Captain would say, the hobbits watched Faramir carefully, cautiously. Faramir approached, kneeling in front of the tired and beaten Frodo.

"I think, at last, we understand each other Frodo Baggins." He gave the hobbit a small nod and smile, himself again.

Knowing what he was planning, Mablung stepped forward with warning. "You know the laws of our country. The laws of your father. If you let them go, your life will be forfeit."

Standing, Faramir nodded. "Then it is forfeit," he answered looking to Emilyn. "Release them."

"So you refuse to go back to Minas Tirith…to safety?" Faramir asked, raising a brow, the mischief back in his eyes.

Emilyn's own look challenged his, "I won't go back without you."

Faramir looked down, "Very well. You know how to protect yourself, and you may well need to." He moved towards her. "I don't know how long we can hold out here, but I intend to wait till the end."

Emilyn nodded, trying to appear braver than she felt at the moment. There was only one thing she knew. She was not going to leave him. "It's like Sam said, isn't it?" Taking his hand she held it close. "We have to believe there's some good in this world, and that's its worth fighting for."

Faramir pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "Yes, it is that exactly."


	21. Endings and Epilogues

Oh my, so it has come to this. The end. But…something tells me that the story is not quite finished. I will apologize in advance to all the LOTR purists out there. Honestly, I never thought I would do it, but…I had to

Enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-One: Endings and Epilogues**

Emilyn waited in the dark with bated breath, the entire force of soldiers anxiously on the lookout for the inevitable attack to come. Night had fallen and they knew the assault would come soon since it was nearing dawn. Faramir had made her promise to stay hiding in one of the inner chambers and that, if he didn't come for her after the attack came, she was to run back to Minas Tirith. Emilyn had made up her mind that she would not run. If it came to it, she would fight, and die, by Faramir's side.

Faramir made his way through the city, checking on men, seeing to it they had the supplies they would need. Other than that, there was nothing more for him to do but watch and wait. They knew the orcs would attack from the river, but with the amount of men on watch, they should have plenty of warning before the attack.

Making his way back into the inner rooms, he found Emilyn, sword in hand, slicing through the air. He stood back and watched for a moment, amused. "I don't think those orcs know what they are up against. If they knew the secret weapon we had, they would run back to Mordor."

Brushing a piece of hair from her face, Emilyn frowned. "Don't make fun," she said, catching her breath.

"I would never." Faramir moved towards her, pulling her to him and placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Any word?" she asked quietly, her earlier fear gone with him so close.

Faramir sighed, "Nothing yet. I'm going to get reports from Mablung now, but I wanted to check on you first."

Emilyn shook her head. "I'm fine."

Faramir nodded and paused. "If things go badly…"

"I know," Emilyn finished for him, rolling her eyes.

"I mean it," he said seriously, not trusting her.

"Just keep yourself safe," Emilyn said, holding him tightly.

Faramir found Mablung at a lookout, watching over the city with a view of the river below. "It's been very quiet across the river," he reported. "The orcs are lying low. The garrison may have moved out. We'll send scouts to Cair Andros. If the orcs attack from the North, we'll have some warning."

Faramir nodded, but the night was silent…too silent for Faramir's liking, and the fog lying over the river didn't help matters. Around him he could hear the occasional laughter of a soldier, or the chatter of what would be done once they were home. Their attention was suddenly turned by a commotion at one of the other lookouts. Running to see what had happened, Faramir found a soldier, his armour pierced by a single arrow. He knew then, that it had begun.

"They're not coming from the north," he said quietly. Pulling out his sword, he ran, warning the men in a whisper. "Quickly, to the river." They would not be taken by surprise.

Faramir cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. Finding a position behind a broken-down wall, he could hear the orcs rowing into shore. Across from him, Mablung waited for the command. Silently, Faramir waited for the orcs to make their move. Then, Gondor would strike.

The battle began silently, Faramir waiting for the best moment to catch the orcs off guard. Quickly, everything fell to death and killing, Orcs ravaging the soldiers, the soldiers of Gondor fighting back with all their strength. But their forces were too few and the orcs continued pouring into the city.

The sun began to rise as the killing continued. Running to one of his commanders, Faramir grabbed him by the arm. "Get Lady Emilyn, we are retreating back to Minas Tirith." He then moved quickly towards the stables.

"Faramir!" he heard Mablung shout. Turning just in time, Faramir saw his soldiers, bows ready. Moving quickly out of the way, the arrows flew, missing him by inches.

"We can't hold them, the city is lost," a bloodied Mablung said to his still stunned Captain.

"Tell the men to break cover. We ride for Minas Tirith," Faramir answered, looking around him, astounded that it had come to this.

It was then they heard the sound, wings pulling through the air, a screech that left no guess as to what it was.

"Nazgul!" The cry went out, panic setting in as the great beasts swooped down, grabbing men and flinging them through the air.

"Fall back!" Faramir cried. "Fall back to Minas Tirith!"

Emilyn, seeing Faramir, rushed towards him, shocked at the amount of dead surrounding them. Grabbing her, Faramir pulled her forward, calling out the retreat to Minas Tirith as he did so.

Rushing to the horses, Emilyn began to mount one, but Faramir stopped her. "You are riding with me. I won't risk one of those demons taking you."

With Emilyn in front of him on his horse, Faramir and the other soldiers raced across the Pelennor fields as if death itself were behind them, the Nazgul swooping down, grabbing both soldiers and horses.

Faramir ducked, pushing Emilyn down as a Nazgul passed closely above them. "If we can just get out from under these clouds we'll be safe," he said. Emilyn could tell from the tone of his voice that he was deeply frightened. She could feel his heart pounding behind her.

Suddenly a white rider appeared on the horizon. "Mithrandir," Faramir sighed happily, spurring his horse ahead even faster. Holding up his staff, a great beam of light shot forth from the wizard's staff, sending the beasts back into the darkness and allowing the men to enter the city safely.

The great doors opened and riders filed into the courtyard of the White City, their hooves clip-clopping on the stone pavement.

"Mithrandir," Faramir called, getting the wizard's attention and pulling his horse to a stop. "They broke through our defenses. They've taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of orcs are crossing the river."

"It is as the Lord Denethor has predicted," came the Prince of Dol Amroth's voice as he made his way through the riders towards Faramir and Gandalf. "Long has he forseen this doom."

Faramir helped Emilyn down from the horse.

"Forseen and done nothing," Gandalf growled, moving his white robes aside and revealing a small man, very much like the two hobbits they had come across in Ithilien.

Looking to Faramir, she quickly turned back her attention to the hobbit.

"Faramir?" Gandalf asked quietly, sensing their shock. Then recognition struck. "This is not the first halfling to cross your path," he said, afraid to show the emotion on his face.

Faramir shook his head, startled almost as much as the wizard.

Suddenly the hobbits face broke out in excitement. "You've seen Frodo and Sam."

"Where?" Gandalf asked, unable to hold back his own joy at the moment. "When?"

Faramir nodded. "In Ithilien, not two days ago." Gandalf and the hobbit shared a grateful smile, but it was quickly ended when Faramir spoke. "Gandalf, they're taking the road to the Morgul Vale."

"And then the pass of Cirith Ungol," the wizard finished for him.

Taking a deep breath, Faramir nodded.

"What does that mean?" the hobbit asked, sensing the concern. "What's wrong?"

"Faramir," Gandalf ordered, his voice laced with fear. "Tell me everything. Tell me all you know."

After cleaning up, Emilyn and Faramir made their way quickly to Gandalf's chambers. "Should you see your father first?" Emilyn asked tentatively. Although, seeing the Steward was the last thing she wanted Faramir to do at the moment.

"My father can wait, this holds precedence now," he answered, confident and centered.

The door to the chamber opened and Emilyn found herself wrapped in the warm, strong arms of the Gandalf she had always remembered.

"Oh, my darling little Emilyn," he said with a laugh. "I see that you have been in safe hands." Nodding, Emilyn enjoyed the peace and safety of his embrace. "I have someone for you to meet," he said, a smile in his voice mixed with a deeper emotion she couldn't quite place.

Standing back, Emilyn again saw the small, curly haired hobbit. "This is Peregrin Took, guard of the citadel," Gandalf said, a bit of sarcasm in his voice. "Pippin this is Lady Emilyn, niece of Theoden King, and Faramir, Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien, and son of the Steward."

Pippin bowed nervously, a stern little frown of concern on his face. "I have heard many things about both of you. Boromir spoke of you…" He stopped, looking to Gandalf with a horrified expression.

"It's alright, Pippin, you can speak plainly with these two," Gandalf assured him, lighting his pipe and urging him to continue.

Faramir looked at Gandalf, then at the hobbit, relief in his face. "You were there," he said without needing to be told.

Pippin nodded silently and reluctantly. "We were being overrun by Oruk Hai. Boromir tried to save us." Pippin looked to the floor. "He died protecting us." Silence filled the room, the harsh reality of hearing the words sinking in.

Moving forward, Emilyn stepped forward, kneeling down, taking Pippin's hand in hers. "Thank you, Peregrin Took."

Looking up, Emilyn saw her own tears reflected in that of the halfling's. "He was the bravest man, I've known," Pippin said. "He loved you both very much, and not a day went by that we didn't hear stories about one of you."

Faramir laughed softly. "Most of them exaggerated I'm sure."

Standing, Gandalf spoke softly. "Isildur's heir has come forth."

Faramir looked at him. "It's true?" he asked, having difficulty even finding the words.

"His name is Aragorn," Pippin chimed in excitedly.

Emilyn moved in front of Faramir. "Are you certain?"

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Gandalf nodded. "He set out with us from Rivendell and is currently in Edoras with your family, my dear. He led them to victory at Helm's Deep."

Emilyn grew concerned. "Is everyone…"

"Perfectly fine, but that is a story for another time. For now, we must know of the ring."

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. "Captain Faramir," a guard said, entering. "The Steward is requesting your presence."

Sighing, Faramir nodded. He turned to Gandalf. "I knew it would be inevitable." Reaching out, he took hold of Emilyn's hand and gave her a nod. "We will speak more soon, Mithrandir

Standing in the great hall next to where the table was set for the steward's afternoon meal, Emilyn was extremely uncomfortable. She heard the words Pippin spoke as he said his oath to Denethor without listening. Occasionally she glanced up, watching Faramir across the hall from her. Their eyes met occasionally, but they didn't speak, they didn't dare.

"...until my lord release me, or death take me." Pippin finished awkwardly, trying to remember the words.

"And I shall not forget it," Denethor said, actually smiling, amused, "nor fail to reward that which is given." He held out his ring for the hobbit to kiss. "Fealty with love," he said kindly. "Valor with honor. Disloyalty with vengeance." Denethor moved to the table and looked to his son. The point of his speech did not go missed. Throwing back his robes, the Steward sat, glancing first from Emilyn then to Faramir. "So, tell me, my dear," Denethor said addressing her. "What do you plan on doing now that you are left without a future husband? Will you find another? Where, I wonder?" Emilyn looked away from him, not wanting to justify him with an answer, but unable to let it go.

"I loved Boromir, my lord, more than you could ever know. His death has grieved me, and I have wept more tears than I knew I had."

"Hmmm," Denethor said in response, placing some food on his plate. Emilyn turned away, refusing to let him see the pain on her face.

"I do not think we should so quickly abandon the outer defenses," Denethor continued. "Defenses that your brother long held intact." For a moment he actually seemed like a general, until he looked up and Emilyn saw the disgust on his face.

"What would you have me do?" Faramir asked.

Denethor pretended not to hear his son. "I will not yield the river in Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken." Emilyn risked a glance at Faramir, knowing that Osgiliath was far too gone to risk a counter attack.

"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun," Faramir said, trying to make his father understand.

Denethor looked up stoically at his son. "Much must be risked in war. Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?" The air was silent. Faramir looked to Emilyn, his eyes sad, knowing what his father wanted.

"You wish now that our places had been exchanged," he said softly. "That I had died and Boromir had lived." Closing her eyes, Emilyn couldn't listen anymore.

"Yes, I wish that," Denethor whispered.

Nodding slightly, sadly, Faramir spoke, resigned. "Since you are robbed of Boromir," he said, his voice breaking, "I will do what I can in his stead." Bowing, Faramir turned, his eyes meeting Emilyn's as he did so. She saw that the light of life that had once burned there had gone out. He was destroyed, diminished. She could see that plain as day. He had nothing.

Turning back to his father, he spoke. "If I should return, think better of me, father."

"That will depend on the manner of your return," Denethor said to his son's retreating figure.

Emilyn made to go after him, but the steward's voice stopped her, cold and heavy like the iron bars of a cell.

"You will not go after him. You will, for once, mind your place."

Emilyn didn't see the riders leave. She didn't hear the words Gandalf spoke to Faramir as he left, ready to give his life for his father, ready to face death for his country. She reached the doors as they closed with a wrenching bang. The vast expanse of the Pelennor fields closing in front of her. Determined, she sat down on a small stone bench in front of the gates, feeling a presence behind her.

"Don't ask me to leave, Gandalf. I won't do it. I will be here when he returns." She wiped a tear away that threatened to fall. "I won't lose him as well. I can't." Saying nothing, Gandalf sat down next to her, and waited.

The hours crept by as Emilyn and Gandalf waited silently for Faramir's return. After what seemed an eternity there was a shout from a lookout high above and the heavy gates opened slowly, scraping on the stone pavement as they did so. Emilyn stood and ran towards the lone horse that entered, its hooves echoing on the pavement. Lying on the ground, being dragged by a stirrup was Faramir. Kneeling by his side, Emilyn pushed the hair from his face. He was gravely injured, one arrow near his shoulder, the other piercing the armor near his side.

"He is still alive," Gandalf said. "Quickly, we must get him aid."

"Faramir," she whispered, pleading with him, laying her head on his chest. "Please do not leave me, please."

"We must see to him, my lady," one of the guards said. Nodding, she stood, following after them, refusing to leave Faramir's side.

Outside the walls of the city, the battle had begun and the clamor of war was all about, echoing into the city and making itself felt in the very marrow of everyone there. With each battle cry, each boulder that was launched into the city, destroying its very foundations, the people cried and ran for safety. But in the citadel where Faramir lay on a makeshift bed, sweating with fever and delirious, the battle outside made no difference. No one paid it any attention.

"The steward has been sent for, lady Emilyn," a guard said quietly, fearing to make too much noise in the presence of death. Emilyn nodded as she continued to clean Faramir's wounds with a cloth dipped in sweet herbs to help bring the fever down and prevent infection.

Faramir began to mutter in his delirium. "Father...sorry...not me...Boromir..." Laying her hand on his forehead, Emilyn kissed his cheek.

"I am here," she whispered. "I will not leave you. You are going to get well. Isildur's heir is coming. Mithrandir told me so." She smiled through her tears as she looked at him. "He promised you would stand beside him. The King will not look kindly on upon you if fail him."

The door to the citadel was thrown open and Denethor entered, staggering at the sight of his son. "Say not that he has fallen." Rushing to the bed he fell to his knees, taking his son's hand and kissing it- grief and madness combining. "My son, my son...I caused this. I have failed you. I have failed my people." Emilyn looked at the steward. For once, he seemed almost human. At that moment, she felt sincere pity for him. Pippin hurried in behind the steward and stood beside Emilyn.

"He is not dead, my lord," Emilyn said, trying to give the Steward some hope. "He is badly injured, but death is not yet near." Denethor looked up to her. He nodded wanly, but said nothing and turned his gaze back to his son.

"Is there anything I can do, my lady?" Pippin asked.

"No, Pippin. He will get well. He must,"Emilyn added with a sad smile. "He must."

The battle raged on. The men of Gondor did their best to keep their courage, but they could not keep back the forces of Mordor. They were fighting a losing battle and they knew it. Gandalf ran through the city, trying to encourage, trying to give them some last shards of the little broken hope they still kept close at their hearts.

In the citadel the air was still quiet, now smelling strongly of the herbs steeping in hot water near Faramir's bed. Guards standing nearby whispered to each other, fearing that the young captain was dying. Wiping his hot brow with the cloth, Emilyn kept watch over him. Denethor, saying nothing, simply watched, a broken man with broken hope. Occasionally, Emilyn would glance up at the Steward. She caught his eye, and for the first time since her arrival at Minas Tirith, she smiled gently at him, trying to reassure him that everything would be fine. He saw her, a kind of sadness breaking through his eyes. He was in pain, and afraid, with nowhere to turn. She could see the thoughts turning in his head.

A soldier, hot with sweat and covered in blood rushed into the room. "My lord Denethor, the men are calling for you. Some refuse to follow the wizard and they demand your instructions."

Denethor did not take his eyes off of his son's unconscious form. "I will not leave my son," he said dismissing the man.

The hours dragged by as the city was shaken. The shrill, piercing cry of the Nazgul could be heard outside and Emilyn's heart pounded in her chest. Soon another soldier entered.

"My lord, they have broken into the city. The first level is taken and in flames. What should we do? The men need you."

Denethor's face turned into an angry frown and he stood. Without a word, he disappeared, leaving the soldier's question unanswered. Minutes later he reappeared, a torch in his hand. His face was no longer that of the grieving father, the arrogant ruler had returned.

"The West has failed. It shall go up in a great fire, and all shall be ended," the Steward muttered. "No tomb for Denethor and Faramir, no orcs or seneschal of Sauron to rule our graves. We will burn like the heathen kings of old." He turned to the guards. "Take him to Fen Hollen."

"My lord?" Emilyn stood. "He is merely injured. He is not yet dead."

Ignoring her, Denethor ordered the guards once more. "Take him!" The guards did as obeyed and gathered Faramir up, carrying him out of the citadel and towards the houses of the dead, Emilyn ran after trying to stop them.

"What are you doing?" she asked one of the soldiers. "He is mad. You must see it."

"I am bound by oaths, my lady." The soldier continued walking.

Running to the front of the procession, Emilyn walked beside Denethor. "My lord, you cannot do this. It is madness. Faramir will live. The wounds are not that grievous. Men have survived far worse."

Denethor kept walking. "Keep your council to yourself. I will see to my son."

Emilyn was stopped in her tracks. She couldn't believe what was happening. She watched in horror as the men neared Fen Hollen, opening the heavy doors, carrying Faramir inside.

Pippin ran up beside her. "What will they do?" the hobbit asked, frightened.

"Master Pippin," Emilyn said. "If ever you wished to repay Boromir, now is your chance to save him by saving his brother, the last man I know who is like him in any way. Find Gandalf. He must know of this before Denethor kills himself and Faramir. Run as fast as you can." Pippin nodded and raced towards the lower levels of the city where the war raged on.

Gathering her courage, Emilyn entered the houses of the dead. The place was cold, stone and marble covering every inch of the tomb save the glass ceiling in a dome above. The men had quickly brought in bundles of wood and laid Faramir on the pyre. Emilyn ran to his side. He seemed to stir as they set him down and Emilyn used this to try and get through to the crazed steward.

"Look, my lord, he stirs. If he were dead he would not move. He will wake, I swear to you."

"Pour oil on the wood!" Denethor demanded.

Emilyn ran to one of the guards and pushed the oil from his hands. The basin fell to the floor with a crash. "You cannot do this!" she screamed.

Denethor glared at her. "Remove her from my sight."

A strong guard grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her towards the door, but Emilyn held onto the stone frame with all her might, refusing to be thrown out. "No!" she yelled. She pushed at the guard, forcing him to release her. She ran to Faramir, now covered in oil, and threw her arms across his chest. "Have you all gone mad? He is NOT DEAD!"

Undeterred, Denethor calmly strode towards her. Grabbing her by the hair he pulled her off of his son and threw her against the wall. Emilyn's head hit the hard stone with a smack and stars danced in front of her eyes. Trying to gather her breath, she took a step forward, but stumbled from the pain and dizziness. She heard the hiss of torches being lit, and the room instantly grew warmer. "Faramir," she cried out. "Wake up, please." She fell to the floor, unable to move another step. Her head was pounding.

There was a crash at the door and Gandalf stormed through, followed by Pippin. "Stay this madness!" Gandalf cried.

All motion in the room stopped. Seeing Emilyn on the floor, Pippin hurried to her and helped her to her feet. She rushed to Faramir's side determined that if Denethor insisted with his insane plan, he would have to kill her as well.

Walking to the pyre, Gandalf gathered Faramir in his arms. Denethor watching, his eyes burning with hate.

"You will not take my son from me!" He cried, making a rush for Gandalf. The wizard stopped him with a single look- anger, hate, and disgust evident in the Gandalf's face. "So! You steal my son away. Very well, go to your deaths, but you will not stop me. I will rule my own end. There is nothing here for me."

Emilyn watched in horror as the steward leapt onto the pyre, holding a flaming torch high in his hand, dropping it onto the oil soaked wood. Flames leapt into the sky. Hurrying them outside, Gandalf ordered the doors shut the door behind them, instructing guards to stand by.

"So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion." The old wizard's face was lined with grief and fatigue, weariness in his voice. He turned to the soldiers standing in shock, looking at the heavy stone door in front of them. The glass ceiling that rested above cracked, smoke and flame rising into the sky.

"Come," Gandalf ordered. "We must see Faramir to the houses of healing."

The morning sun burst through the windows. Emilyn, having fallen asleep by Faramir's bedside woke suddenly, certain that she had missed something in the hours she had slept. All was still and healers scurried quietly and calmly from one room to another, caring for those in need. She turned to Faramir, still hot with fever, his breath shallow, and kissed his forehead. She ran a hand along his cheek and went in search of help.

Entering the hallway, a familiar voice caught her attention. "Where have they laid lady Éowyn of Rohan? We have come to find her."

Running towards the voice, Emilyn found herself standing in front of the impressive warrior that was her brother. Éomer looked down to his youngest sister. He was covered in dirt and blood; his face streaked with recently shed tears. He embraced her with a cry of joy and fiercely kissed the top of her head, holding her tightly.

"You are safe," he cried. "My sisters are alive."

Emilyn looked up to him. "Where is Éowyn? Why do you look for her here?"

Éomer held his sister back at arm's length. "She rode with the men." His voice was weak, but he managed to tell the story. "When our uncle was slain, she stood by his side. She destroyed the Witch King and was injured, but we come with one who will help." He turned as Gandalf entered the hallway, Aragorn by his side.

"We must see first to Faramir. His injuries are the most desperate," Gandalf instructed. Aragorn nodded and they entered the steward of Gondor's room.

Emilyn knelt by Faramir's side as Isildur's heir worked, leaning close to him speaking quietly. "Walk no more in the shadow."

Slowly, Faramir stirred and his eyes opened. "My lord...my king," he said weakly. "I saw you in a dream. I knew you would come."

Aragorn smiled kindly at him. "Rest," he looked to Emilyn and motioned for her to take his place sitting on the bed beside Faramir. "You owe your life to her." With that the king left, moving to his next patient, leaving the two alone.

Emilyn took Faramir's hand. Looking to her, he smiled lovingly, squeezing her hand in thanks. Emilyn leaned forward, not able to stop the tears as she leaned her cheek against his.

Faramir pulled her close and ran a hand through her curls, breathing in the scent of her as if it gave him strength. Sitting up slowly, he held her face in his hands. "Shhh," he said, wiping away her tears. "I am all right. I will be well."

"I was so scared," she whispered. "I didn't want to lose you." Her dark eyes met his and locked there, seeing the trust, the admiration, the friendship, and more. "I love you," she whispered. The words finally said. She smiled through her tears, a nervous giggle escaping. "I love you," she said again, the words wonderful to say. "I love you."

Faramir pulled her towards him, kissing her with a passion he had never felt before. Finally he was able to claim her as his own, without guilt, without hiding, without regret. He held her tightly, never wanting to let go. "My love, my life."

**Epilogue**

The afternoon sun warmed the small cottage while a couple loaves of bread and a scrawny rabbit roasted in the fireplace. It was all that was left from the storage house, and Mara knew she would have to send Terin out to do some more hunting. She just hoped it was safe enough now. With so many troops moving along the Anduin she had been reluctant to send her son out to hunt. Now, though, it appeared there would be no choice.

She had finally agreed that both he and Maris could wander down to the river for some fresh water. She only hoped that things had settled down. The last thing she wanted was to send her children into dange, and regretted not just going herself, but they had been cooped up for too long.

"Mama! Mama!" The door crashed open and both children rushed in, cheeks red, eyes open wide.

"What happened?" Mara asked, rushing to Maris. The little girl looked like she had seen a ghost. There was no telling what they had witnessed from the reports she had heard lately.

"There's a man at the river!" The little girl answered excitedly.

Confused, Mara turned to Terin for an explanation. "There's a man on the river bank," he explained, trying to catch his breath. "He looks dead." Terin paused and Mara could see that he was attempting not to appear as shook up as he felt. "He looks important. A warrior. There's a tree on the front of his breastplate."

Nodding, Mara stood. "Show me."

**Stay tuned for the next story: A Life Lived Apart**


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